Holding On
by Luni500
Summary: The summoning ritual ended, Sam looked frantically around the dim, grey dungeon, heart pounding in panic and his stomach twisting in convulsive knots as the room remained empty of the former Crossroads King. – SPOILERS for 9x23 Do You Believe In Miracles.
1. Chapter 1

His eyes stung from the previously shed tears and the ones that now gathered and blurred his vision. Sam wiped furiously at his swollen red eyes, lips pulled back as he gave a disgruntled snarl and struck the match, watching as the flame burst to life. Composing himself with deep steady breathes, he dropped the flaming piece into the bowl, ingredients almost immediately catching fire and he raised his head eagerly, eyes desperate as they sought out the black clad figure of the King of Hell.

The summoning ritual ended, Sam looked frantically around the dim, grey dungeon, heart pounding in panic and his stomach twisting in convulsive knots as the room remained empty of the former Crossroads King.  
Yelling in aggravation he kicked the bowl, burnt ingredients fluttered through the air as a metallic ring vibrated around the walls. Pacing, he violently dragged his fingers through his messy hair, digits becoming entangled in the wild mess, as his feet carried him to and fro.

"Crowley, you son of a bitch," Sam snarled, lips trembling and eyes blood shot "You get your ass here, right now, and you fix my brother! I don't care how long you give me or whatever else you want, just fix your mess or I swear to God I will hunt you down myself." His speech came out slightly slurred, spittle flying as his cheeks turned red from anger and desperation as Crowley still remained elusive.  
"Crowley!" Sam roared, body shaking as he realised the demon wasn't coming "Answer me." He choked out, tears beginning to stream down his ruddy cheeks "Please!" He begged, voice cracking.

Sam fell to his knees, body hunched over and arms bracketing his head as he sobbed uncontrollably, pleading and promising to give anything if only Crowley, someone, anyone would bring Dean back to him.

Pulling in ragged breathes, Sam raised his head to the ceiling. "Cas!" He called brokenly, "Castiel, I need your help. Dean-" he swallowed thickly, emotions threatening to chock him "Dean's been hurt really badly. I- I need you to heal him." Sam's hazel eyes, brimming with tears and pain, pleaded for help. "Please, Castiel. You're the only one who can save him."  
A few seconds passed, then came the light sound of wings fluttering followed by the sound of Castiel's foot falls echoing in the too quiet bunker. Sam pushed himself to his knees, wiping his nose clean with the sleeve of his plaid shirt as his eyes took in the fixed expression upon the angel's face.

"Cas, you came." Sam breathed as the angel stopped before him, taking in the rumpled clothing, tangled hair, bloodshot red glassy eyes and tear stained cheeks.  
"Yes, Sam. I heard your call. Tell me what happened." Castiel demanded, expression severe as he felt the stolen grace continue to slowly burn out inside his vessel, and worry for Dean's well being.

Sam cleared his throat, jaw muscle jumping as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. "Dean went after Metateon on his own. He knocked me out and when I came too, he had already taken off. I had just gotten into the building when he-" squeezing his fists, till his knuckles turned white, Sam continued "when, Metatron rammed an angel blade into Dean's heart."  
Castiel's eyes closed and head hung low, for Sam had revealed his fear that Metatron spoke the truth. He didn't have the courage to tell Sam just yet that he didn't have the power to heal Dean.  
"I tried to kill Metatron, but he vanished before I had a chance to. I then got Dean back here as quickly as I could. I tried to summon Crowley, but he didn't come, so I then called for you, Cas." Wet hazel begged with Castiel. "Please, Cas. Tell me you can fix my brother?"

Releasing a defeated sigh, Cas lifted his head and his tired blue eyes bore their sorrow and plead for forgiveness to Sam. "I am truly sorry, Sam, but I cannot heal your brother."  
He felt another small part of his grace burnout with the crushed look that engulfed Sam's face. "The grace inside of me is burning out. I don't have enough power left in me to heal Dean sufficiently." Cas dropped his gaze, no longer being able to look at the stricken expression on Sam's face.  
"No, no, no. C-Cas, you have to help him. H-he's my brother, he's your friend. You can't do this to him!" Sam yelled, desperation rolling off of him. "I am sorry, Sam, but I can't." Cas replied, not lifting his head.

"No." Sam gritted out, steeping forward and roughly clasping Castiel's upper arms. "You're going to bring him back, ok? You're going to bring, Dean back!" Sam shouted in Castiel's face.  
Eyes drooping in sadness Cas replied "If he's already dead, Sam, it's too late. There's no possible way for me to save, Dean."

"If you two lovebirds are quite finished pecking at each other, I would like to make my presence known." Crowley spoke, standing casually a few yards from the entrance to dungeon, hands in his coat pockets.

"Crowley." Sam growled, releasing Castiel and making his way towards the demon. "Where were you? I summoned you, I shouted and pleaded for you to come but you never did." Sam's body now shook with barely contained rage.

"Easy, Moose. You'll burst a blood vessel or two if you're not careful. As for my whereabouts, I was already here." A smug look washed over Crowley's face. "I actually arrived here before you started to summon me." Crowley stated.  
"Well then if you were here, why didn't you tell me? Dean needs you're help and yo-" the smug expression on Crowley's face fell and he cut Sam off with a scathing tone.  
"And if I had shown up to you immediately after you summoned me, what would have happened? You make a deal with me? Your soul for Dean's life? And our lives go back to what they originally were, you two morons trying to kill me. But if I had made a deal, Sam" Crowley's brow pulls down in contemplation "What do you think Dean would be like? Would he be the old Dean that can't live without an unhealthy addiction to fast-food or would he still be this Dean, the one with a craving to kill and never stop?" Crowley waited for a response, but all he got was Sam's continuous jaw muscle flexing.  
"Besides, I wouldn't have made a deal with you anyway. You Winchester's are notorious for making them much more complicated than they need to be."  
"Crowley, where were you while Sam was attempting to summon you?" Castiel asked, gaze pensive.

Crowley's shoulders dropped fractionally, eyes dropping to a point behind the Hunter and angel. "Something important." He answered vaguely.  
"Define what you mean by 'something important'". Sam ordered.  
Crowley let out an exasperated sigh. "Seeing Dean. Ap-apologising for not telling the full truth.

Sam's face paled. "Crowley, what have you done?" He whispered.  
"Come and take a look." Crowley replied then vanished.

"Crowley! CROWLEY!" Sam bellowed as he ran from the dungeon through the bunker to Dean's room. Stopping in the doorway, he gripped the frame as his legs threatened to give out. Dean's bed lay empty, the impression of his body left behind on the rumpled duvet.

"Dean!" Sam called out, a new found sense of hope pulsing through his body. "Dean!"  
"Sam, Sam." Castiel shouted, bringing the hunter's attention back to the angel. "We need to get out of here there's-" Before Cas could finish his warning Sam overtook him, his babbling nearly incoherent.  
"Cas, Dean's alive! We need to find him. Come on!" Sam pushed past the angel running back to the main area of the bunker, Castiel's call of "Sam wait! Wait!" falling on deaf ears.

Reaching the main area, Sam shouted for his brother again, turning in circles to try and find him. "Sam, we need to leave. There's another de-" but Cas never finished his sentence, for Dean walked out of the corridor leading to the bathrooms, towel in hand as he patted his face dry of water and blood seeping from the cuts on his face.

"Dean." Sam said, a slightly pained smile tugging at his lips as he stepped towards his older brother. An iron grip upon his bicep prevented him from taking more than one step.  
Turning his head he saw Castiel held him back, jaw tense and eyes wide. "Cas, what's wrong?" He asked.

"Mmh. You might want to show your Moose sooner rather than later, Dean." Crowley spoke up, leaning against a column on the other side of the room.  
"Show me what? What is going on!" Sam asked, becoming aggravated at not knowing what was wrong.

"Sammy..." Dean spoke quietly, gaze fixed on a point near Cas's shoe.  
"Dean, what's going on?" Sam asked, his voice silently pleading.  
Dean took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, lifted his head and blinked.

His eyes were pitch black.


	2. Chapter 2

When he opened his eyes everything looked normal. Or as normal for someone who felt that the world was spinning in fast-forward and had their ass handed to them only a few hours previously. But, for the most part, normal.  
Dean tried to sit up, but tensing his muscles caused them to scream out in tortured agony. Releasing a pained grunt, he relaxed back against the soft material of his duvet and pillow, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to try and will his uncooperative limbs into motion.

Scrunching his eyes, Dean pulled his body into a sitting position, his muscles protesting violently and released a pained groan as he swayed slightly. Resting his elbows upon his knees and hanging his head low, Dean dragged in ragged breath's, trying to calm his up heaving stomach and the ringing in his ears.  
It was only then that he noticed the tight grip his right hand had on the handle of the First Blade. Frowning, Dean looked more closely at the primitive weapon. The power that it radiated sung through his body, but it didn't seem to overwhelm him anymore. "What the hell?" He muttered, voice hoarse as his dry throat scratched uncomfortably.

Placing the blade side him, Dean tentatively relaxed his grip of it and slowly pulled his hand away. None of the previous need to take up the blade again rushed through his battered body, just a small urging that he easily ignored.  
Sighing, Dean rubbed his hands over his tired eyes, wincing as he pressed slightly too hard on the bruised area surrounding them. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his jumbled mind, as fragments of the previous few hours started to come back to him. 

_Him and Sam arriving at the homeless camp, the cold night air making his flesh rise in Goosebumps. Punching Sam unconscious, guilt gripping his throat tight. "Sorry, little brother, it's not your fight." Metatron's new followers intercepting him, the blades power thrumming through his veins. Meeting Metatron in the warehouse, shoulders drawn back and gaze focused. "I'm blaming you for Kevin. I'm blaming you for taking Cas' grace. Whatever it is... I'm blaming you." Feeling his bones crack and muscles bruised as Metatron kicked and beat him to a pulp. Hearing faintly as Sam came running down the rickety stairs and then excruciating pain as Metatron jammed an angel blade through his heart.  
_  
The memories after that are too hazy to completely recollect, but one stands out more than the others. "I'm proud of us."  
That had been his goodbye. He had died. He knows he had died!

A cold fear and red hot anger raged through him together, making his stomach roll again and vision swim. "Oh, Sammy no." Dean whispered, white knuckled grip on the bedside shaking.

"Well, it's good to see that you're not entirely damaged." Came the deep British accent that belonged to Crowley. The demon stood straight in the doorway, gaze narrowed and watching as Dean tried to take control of his emotions.  
"What did you do, Crowley?" Dean bit out, jaw tensed and muscles contracting and releasing in an irregular tempo. "I, for once, had nothing to do with your being brought back." Crowley coolly replied, as he took a step into Dean's room.

"The hell you did! You made a deal with, Sam." Dean growled out, eyes burning.  
"You lift the deal or, God help me, I'll-" Dean's threat cut off mid flow as a strangled cry escaped from his throat and his eyes took in the twisted, mutilated and shifting form before him as he scurried back across the bed.

"Uh, yes, my true form is an acquired taste to behold." Crowley replied smugly, eyes surveying his meat suit. Dean's mouth opened and closed repeatedly, no noise escaping.  
"How-" Dean wet his dry cracked lips, eyes reflecting dread and fear he hadn't felt since Sam said 'Yes' to the Lucifer "How can I see your true form?" Dean croaked.

Sighing, Crowley settled against the door frame, legs crossed at the ankle. "Seeing as you missed my earlier little endeavour to explain the situation, with being dead, I'll just have to recollect. You died, Dean. But the Mark didn't let you go." Crowley gave an expectant look, one which fell at the blank expression upon Dean's face.  
"Oh, for God's sake. You and your brother are truly lucky you have your good looks. The Mark, Dean. The Mark is the reason you are sitting there, rather than slowly going into rigor-mortis."

Dean blinked a couple of times, comprehension starting to bleed into his features. "Ok, so the Mark of Cain brought me back from the dead? How?" He asked, voice regaining some of its previous strength. Crowley shifted slightly in his position, eyes down cast. "In a manner of speaking." He muttered.  
Dean's head snapped up, eyes narrowing as he stood and stalked towards Crowley. "What do you mean 'In a manner of speaking'?" He growled out, looming a few feet from the shifting red and black form that appeared both solid and smoke at the same time.  
Crowley sighed again, rolling his neck and popping a few stiff joints with a satisfying crack. "I told you the blade was too much for you as a human. Cain tried to warn you of the consequences. But, Squirrel, as you prove time and time again, you don't listen." Crowley responded, voice calm but lightly reprimanding.

"How" Dean stepped closer to Crowley, chests just a breath away "Did the Mark bring me back?" Crowley let out an amused huff, taking note of the small changes in Dean.  
"Like you, Cain wouldn't allow the Mark to turn him into the killer it wanted him to be. He killed himself and the Mark brought him back as one of us." A flicker of pleasure shone in Crowley's eye as the ramifications became clear to Dean. "A demon."  
Dean stumbled back, face drained of colour and a series of determined 'No's being uttered from his lips.

Crowley tsked as he took a step forward. "Really, Dean, being a demon isn't all that bad. There are mountains of positives to be had, you just have to loo-" His cheerful rant stopped as a snarled "Enough!" tore from Dean's throat, and the First Blade flew effortlessly into his hand.  
Dean stood shocked, staring at the Blade he held in his hand. He hadn't meant to call it to him. He didn't even think to, it- it was instinctual.  
"Starting to believe me now, Dean?" Crowley asked, amused glint still present in his eyes.  
"I'm- I'm not a demon." Dean replied, but it sounded weak even to his own ears.  
Giving a put upon sigh, Crowley said "Fine. Wallow in self denial, but know this, Squirrel, I'm telling you the truth. The sooner you accept your new fate the sooner our lives can continue." And with that he was gone.

Dean wet his lips, his spit stinging as it seeped into the cracks on the dried plump flesh. Looking to the jaw bone he held, he shook his head and dropped it, trying to shake off Crowley's words as well.  
He looked down at his chest, shirt torn and completely matted with his blood and sweat. Gingerly, he lifted his hand and lightly ran his fingers over the area Metatron had plunged through to pierce his heart. The area was healed, but his feather light touch sent ripples down his spine and caused his heart to beat irregularly.  
A shower. He really needed a shower.

Nodding his head, Dean walked over to his dresser and picked up the first item of clothing he touched, which so happened to be a pair of blue jeans and a black shirt, the two dominant articles that seemed to make up his wardrobe.  
Stripping his clothes off was slightly more difficult than usual, what with a large amount of his blood having seemingly super-glued his shirt to his body, Dean stepped into the bunker shower and let the hot water wash over his body.

A relieved groan came from his throat as the heat and pressure of the spray beat down on his tense and weary muscles, causing them to relax. The rivulets that cascaded down his body turned red then faded to pink, till the water eventually ran clear.  
Dean stepped out of the shower, form flushed pink and clean of grime and blood. Standing before the mirror above the sink, Dean wiped his hand over the misted surface, his reflection becoming visible.

Leaning forward he analyzed his bruised and cut features, colour stained flesh and, very human, green eyes. Crowley had to be lying. He was a demon, former King of the Crossroads. Lying was an essential part of his make-up. It wasn't true!

Dean closed his eyes, brow furrowed deeply as he remembered the nightmare that plagued him for so many nights so long ago.  
_"__You're gonna die! And this, th__is is what you're gonna become!"__ A demonic version of __him__ snarled, blood platters covering his face and a wild, malevolent gleam in his eyes. Memories of Hell; blood, pain, fear, smoke, death, sulphur, screaming, so much screaming and his satisfied laughter at creating such a sound from someone rang through his head in an uncontrollable wave.  
_  
Shaking his head vehemently, Dean opened his eyes and saw those very same pitch black eyes that haunted his dreams staring back at him.  
Scrambling backwards, Dean blinked repeatedly, his gaze returning to its normal forest green.

Breath ragged, Dean surged towards the mirror, examining his eyes. Ice pumped through his veins as the soft green switched to endless black. A choked noise between a whimper and a howl clawed out his throat, as Dean fought back anguished tears.  
"No, no, no. Oh, God. Please don't- don't, no! Anything- anything but this." Dean begged, eyes to the ceiling and calling for a God who was no longer there and no longer cared to hear his cries.

Dean looked back at his reflection. Dark gaze a taunting reminder as to why God would not answer him. Snarling, Dean threw his fist at his reflection, shattering the glass and sending thousands upon thousands of shards spiralling through the air. His fist continued through the backboard, leaving a shallow crater in the concrete wall behind.  
Heart thumping and limbs shaking, Dean reeled in the volcanic anger that threatened to consume him, black eyes blazing.

"Dean! DEAN!" Echoed down the corridor and filtered into the bathroom.  
"Sammy." Dean exhaled, eyes returning to normal as his younger brothers voice washed over him, acting like a balm that calmed his rage, then grabbed his clothes and proceeded to pull them on while still covered in residual water.  
Dean speed walked down the corridor to the main area of the bunker, following Sam's call of his name, while he gently patted his face dry with the hand towel he picked up on his way out of the bathroom.

"Sam, we need to leave. There's another de-" Cas was saying just as Dean walked into the main area.  
"Dean." Sam said, with a pained smile tugging at his lips and his eyes rimmed red as he took a step towards his brother. Cas' arm shot out, hand bracketing Sam's bicep in an iron grip, and sent a warning glare, tinged with sadness and wariness, towards Dean.  
Sam gave a confused look to Dean then Cas, trying to tug his arm free. "Cas, what's wrong?" He asked.

"Mmh. You might want to show your Moose sooner rather than later, Dean." Crowley spoke up, leaning against a column on the other side of the room, a smug smile on his face as Dean shot him a scathing look.

"Show me what? What is going on!" Sam shouted, becoming agitated with not knowing what was happening.

"Sammy..." Dean spoke quietly, not being able to meet his baby brother's gaze. 'Please help me. Please forgive me. Please save me.' And so much more clung to that silent plea.  
"Dean, what's going on?" Sam asked, his voice scared.  
Dean took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. Squared his shoulders to stop his body from shaking. Lifted his head and blinked.

An icy fist crushed the small hope Dean held, at the ashen look upon Sam's face.

**Hi everyone! I just wanted to say thank you so much to all the people who have read, followed, favourited and reviewed my fic. The status does say that this fic is complete, as I was originally going to leave it as a one-shot, but then decided to keep writing. I'm unsure if I will continue this fic for more than a few chapters, but if you have any questions that you would like to ask me either PM me or leave one in a review. Again thank you, and enjoy. **


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's throat constricted, lungs momentarily forgetting how to draw in breath as he saw his own horrified expression reflected in Dean's black eyes.  
"Sammy, I-" Dean's words ended with a pained grunt as Sam lunged forward, white knuckled fist colliding brutally with Dean's already bruised face.

"Who the hell are you! What are you doing inside Dean's body?" Sam roared, further assault prevented only by Cas' arms winding around his chest and pinning his to his sides. He turned his venomous gaze to Crowley, teeth pulled back in a savage snarl. "Is this because of you, Crowley? Did you put one of your lackey's inside, Dean?"  
Crowley watched with amusement as the young Hunter tried to break free and attack him. "As I told you before, Moose, I had absolutely nothing to do with your brothers being brought back. And that is in fact, Dean and not one of my 'lackey's as you so eloquently put it."

"Why should I believe you?" Sam bellowed, vein in his forehead standing out and face flushed a dark red.  
"Because it's me, Sam." Dean answered, his reply coming out nasally as he held onto his now broken nose and tried to stem the blood dripping out, down his chin and onto his clean shirt. "Dude, did you have to aim for the face? Metatron messed it up fine on his own. I don't need your contribution as well."  
"If you asked me, I think it's an improvement." Crowley replied, chuckling at the glare he received. "No one asked your opinion." Dean growled out.

Sam's head was spinning in circles. His vision swam, and he closed his eyes and counted to 10 to subside the dizziness."Stop- stop. Everyone just stop!" He called, pushing Cas back, whom he went from fighting against to leaning on for support. "Just give me a sec to understand what's going on."  
Everyone, except Crowley, stood in tense silence. The air could be cut with a blade because of the anxiety that radiated off of the two Hunters and the angel.

Sam's gaze never left Dean, his hazel eyes scrutinizing every inch of his older brother, praying that some unknown demon had possessed Dean's body, rather than his brother's own tortured soul animating his corpse.

Turning his head slightly to Cas, but never taking his eyes off of Dean's weary forest green ones, Sam asked "Cas, is it really Dean?" Voice low, throat muscles contracting in a random rhythm.  
Sighing, Cas dropped his head slightly then lifted his sad gaze to Dean, a lifetime of apologises shinning in his blue eyes for not preventing this from happening, and answered "Yes. He is."

Sam nodded, jaw clenched and eyes shining with unshed tears at Dean's fate.  
"How?" He asked, voice catching slightly.

"Seeing as this little talk is mainly for you boys and your angel pet, I best be on my way." Crowley spoke, standing up from leaning against the column and brushing imaginary flint off of his tailored black coat. "Dean, I'll be in touch." He said, then disappeared with a faint odour of sulphur lingering behind.

"Dean." Sam ground out, chest rising and falling rapidly as he looked down one of the many halls, rather than at his brother "How are you a demon?"

Dean sighed, finally releasing his noise which had stopped bleeding but was now starting to swell, and walked towards the second dark oak table that dominated the centre of the room, pulled out one of the many seats and ungracefully dropped into the soft cushions padding them.  
"To be completely honest, Sammy, I don't know." He reached for the convenient bottle of whiskey that was an arm's length away, unscrewed the lid and took several large gulps of the amber liquid, feeling as it burned a warm path to his stomach.  
"I woke up feeling like Death warmed over, realised I was still alive, thought you made a deal to bring me back. Having Crowley in my room only strengthened that idea. Then I looked at him, and-" he takes another large gulp, fingers toying with the ring at the top of the neck "I saw what he really looked like. Forgot how damn ugly they were since Lilith and her Hellhound turned me into a chew toy. Anyway, Crowley denied making a deal with you. He told me that the Mark brought me back."

Dean laid his right arm on the polished surface, palm up, gazing down at the mark seared into his flesh.

"Ok, fine, but how did the Mark bring you back?" Sam asked, impatience thick in his voice.  
"I don't know. Crowley said something about the Mark not letting me go. Apparently Cain couldn't control the Mark, so he killed himself and the Mark brought him back as a demon." Dean answered gruffly, becoming irritated with Sam's attitude.  
"What, so, Cain didn't tell you that taking the Mark would result in you becoming a raging psychopath, and on your death a demon?" Sam asked, disbelief colouring his features.  
Dean twirled the bottle slowly on the table, watching how the light reflected off the amber, turning it gold.  
"He might have tried to warn me about some of the consequences." Dean muttered, gaze focused on the bottle.  
"And you didn't think to ask or wonder what those consequences were, Dean?" Sam shouted, face red and fists clenched, nails digging crescent shapes into his palms.  
"I had more important issues to think about, such as the demons that were trying to kill me at the time and the fact that I now had a shot at killing Abbadon. So no, Sam, I didn't think of the consequences, but I dealt with them!" Dean shouted back, anger starting to build into an inferno.  
"Dealt with it? Dean, you were two breathes away from gorging someone's eyes out if they so much as looked at you wrong. That's not dealing with it, Dean!" Sam let out a frustrated huff, fingers carding roughly through his long hair. "I told you not to keep the Blade. I told you we had to find out what the catch was, because I knew something like this would happen!"  
Dean's gaze snapped up, green eyes burning and grip causing the glass bottle in his hand to crack. "So you knew I was going to turn into a demon?" Dean accused, voice low and dangerous, lights beginning to flicker.  
"Of course not, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, rubbing his hands over his tired face. "What I meant was, nothing good comes out of something like that. You should have listened to me."  
"Well, I'm sorry I didn't, ok? We'll deal with this just as we've dealt with everything else." Dean answered, standing up and heading towards his bedroom, shoulders tensed and hunched, trying to rein in his anger and stop the lights flickering.  
"We can't, Dean." Sam muttered tiredly, shoulders sagging under an invisible weight.  
Dean stopped, slowly turned to Sam, with a hard gleam in his eyes. "And why not?" He asked tightly, throat feeling raw from forcing them out.  
Sam lifted his head to look at his older brother, eyes sad but resigned.  
"Because you're a demon."

The lights exploded, pieces of glass and filament soaring through the air, as Sam was through back against the brick wall, his head rebounding off it twice, and fell to the floor. The room tipped and rolled around him, a high pitched ringing sounding in his ears as Sam lurched to his feet, only to be tackled around the waist and barrelled onto the wooden floor.

Dean straddled Sam's waist, eyes black with rage as he rained fist after fist into his brother's dazed face, bunker alarm shrieking in the background going unnoticed by him as the Mark sang with joy with each collision.

A burst of power dislodged Dean, who let out a surprised and pained yell as it burned him, and sent him flying through into one of the columns. His impact created a fracture in the stone and numerous cracking noises as a couple of his ribs broke. Dean dropped to the floor like a rag-doll, unconscious.

Cas hesitantly lowered his outstretched hand, residual power being absorbed back into his vessel, and looked down at Dean's crumpled body with an unreadable expression. Cas' stolen grace twisted and flailed inside of him, making his steps unsteady as he walked over to the groaning and bruised mass that was Sam.  
"Sam, are you alright?" He asked, holding his hand out to help the young Hunter to his feet.

"I'm fine, Cas." Sam answered, swaying dangerous on his long legs. Castiel's doubtful expression made him revise his state of well being. "Ok, maybe not 'fine', but I'll live." He said, shaking his head to clear the fogginess and wincing as pain blossomed up the back of his neck and head from the movement.

Seeing Dean's crumpled form on the floor, Sam slowly approached, cautious in case Dean woke and attacked him again. Turning towards the angel, Sam asked "What are we going to do with him, Cas?" Voice determined.  
Castiel huffed silently, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled. "I don't entirely know, Sam. We could try Father Max Thompson's cure, but there is no saying how it will affect, Dean compared to a normal demon."  
Sam's eyebrows furrowed, confusion evident on his face. "Compared to a normal demon?" He asked.  
Cas sighed, "Yes, Sam. Dean was turned into a demon by the Mark of Cain. This could possibly mean he is a Knight of Hell. The power that Dean holds is unimaginable. We can't know how it will affect him, as Farther Thompson only used lower demons. He never experimented on one with as much power as a Knight. The cure might not even work on him, Sam." Castiel explained.  
"But the cure was working on, Crowley when I did the Demon trials." Sam argued back, crossing his arms over his chest.  
"Yes, but Crowley was formerly a crossroads demon. Abbadon had twice the power Crowley possesses and Dean even more so." Cas responded, walking to Dean's side and crouching by his still body.  
Looking up from his low position he said "For the time being, Sam, I think it's best if Dean's held in a secure location."

Huffing and with his eyebrows still drawn low, Sam replied. "Yeah." And helped Cas pick up his older brother's limp form.

Dean groaned in misery at the pounding in his temples, the fire in his chest and the overall ache that inhabited his body. The metal table his head rested on did little to soothe the headache that seemed intent on cracking his skull open. Groaning again, he shifted his weight in the uncomfortable wooded chair, chains hanging from his wrists clinking.  
Raising his head too quickly, Dean had to squeeze his eyes shut as the pounding redoubled then opened them to look at the Devil's Traps carved into the dull metal surface. Dean brought his hands to his throat, feeling the collar around his neck, and adjoining chain shackling him to the wall. Looking down at the floor, Dean saw he was seated in the middle of a large Devil's trap.

"Sam! SAMMY! Sam!" Dean howled, voice rebounding off the dungeon walls. "Sam, let me out! SAM! SAMMY! LET ME OUT!" Travelled throughout the bunker, booming in the silence.

Sam sat at his desk, files and notes on Father Thompson's experiments spread out before him. "SAM!" Dean's anguished call filled his room. Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes with dark circles bruising the underside, and muttered "I'm sorry, Dean, but this is the only way I can help you at the moment. I'll find a way to fix you, I promise.

"SAM!" Dean called, voice hoarse and throat raw. "LET ME OUT, PLEASE! SA-" the doors to the dungeon swung open with an ominous whine.  
Foot steps slow and echoing in the now silent cell, Crowley approached Dean, amused smile on his face.  
"Not the most comfortable of accommodations, don't you think, Dean?" Crowley asked mockingly, enjoying seeing the Winchester in the same place he was held for months.  
"What do you want, Crowley?" Dean growled, irritated and embarrassed to rely on Crowley yet again to free him.  
"I'm here to offer you a deal, Dean. I bust you out of this poor excuse for a dungeon and you offer me your help in return." Crowley spoke, confidence oozing off of him.  
"What makes you think I want to help you?" Dean asked, distaste think in his voice.  
"'Want' to help me, of course not. I'm not daft, but you will help me, otherwise I'll just leave you here to the mercy of your Moose and angel." Crowley narrowed his gaze, seeing that it would take more than what he was offering to sway Dean.  
"You do know they're thinking of trying the demon 'cure' on you? There's no knowing how it might affect you. Could cure you, could not work at all. Or it could make you into a blood junkie, just like it did to me."  
Crowley watched Dean's reaction, waiting for him to cave as he continued.  
"How many innocent people are you going to kill, Dean? 10, 20, 100? It's so easy to rack up the body count when you're a demon, and not realise how far you've gone. And imagine, all those people dead, because you needed your next fix."

"Alright, alright! What do you want me to do?" Dean shouted, trying to clear the memories of his experience as a vampire, the scorching thirst he felt then the only thing he could compare to needing a fix.  
Chuckling, Crowley stepped to the edge of the Devil's trap. "I bust you out, you take a trip with me downstairs to help sort out matters. Ok?"  
"Why would you need my help in sorting Hell out? Abbadon is dead, wouldn't all your little minions go back to licking your boots clean?" Dean asked.  
Crowley sighed, "As I said before, Hell's complicated. Some of her flock are trying to build their numbers again. No doubt planning on overthrowing me. I need your help in dispatching them, once and for all. So," Crowley paused, trying to add a dramatic air to the contract "do we have a deal?"  
Dean sat quietly, lips pursed and analysed the pros and cons of accepting. Nodding his head, he answered "Yeah, we do."

"Excellent." Crowley said and snapped his fingers, the shackles and collar around Dean's wrists and throat opening and falling away. Dean stood, walking to the edge of the Devil's trap, where he was stopped by the invisible force.  
"How you going to spring me from this without trapping yourself as well?" Dean questioned, eyebrows drawn.  
"Easy, Squirrel." Crowley said, stepped back and snapped his fingers.  
A deep crack formed on the floor, breaking the trap.  
Tentatively, Dean stepped over the threshold. "You need to teach how to do that." He said, looking down at the split ground.  
"All in due time." Crowley answered.

"Ready?" Crowley asked, arm extended and indicating the exit.  
"Let me get my Blade first." Dean answered. Crowley's grin nearly split his face.


	4. Chapter 4

When Dean agreed to help Crowley sort out Hell, he'd expected complete and utter pandemonium; Demons, souls, hellhounds, all running a riot. What he did not expect was to be presented with a personal study that looked like it belonged in a Victorian mansion.  
Floor to ceiling shelves crammed with leather bound Tomes and documents lined the three walls surrounding Crowley's desk, made of dark, sturdy wood and littered with random knick-knacks,utensils and a copy of one of the Winchester Gospels.

Dean picked up the copy, nose scrunched in distaste at the cheesy front cover, then flipped it and read the summary on the back.  
"Catching up on mine and Sam's history?" He inquired, lazily throwing the novel back onto the desk. "Also, since when does Hell look like this?" Dean threw his arms out, indicating the whole room.  
"Certain bits of your past I wasn't quite clear on. I had to make sure I didn't miss anything important." Crowley walked around Dean to behind his desk, pulling out the high backed and large, dark burgundy leather swivel chair, and gracefully dropping into it.  
Leaning back into the plush leather, Crowley placed his elbows on the arm rests, fingers linked together below his chin. "As for Hell, not all of it looks like this. This is my private office which I designed to suit my needs, but Hell is most certainly different since your last visit. More organised. However, some parts are exactly as you remember them, Dean. From your time spent as Alastair's student. We'll be visiting those areas a bit later on."

"I'm not torturing the souls you have trapped down here, Crowley." Dean barked, turning a fierce glare to the demon.  
Crowley raised his hands in a placating gesture, watching as Dean's grip on the First Bade tightened.  
"Oh, no. I would never expect you to fall to such depths." Crowley spoke, sarcasm twinning thickly with his British accent. "No, Squirrel, what I want you to do is make an example of them. Through those doors are Abbadon's troop leaders and in my holding cells the small flock they've gathered. I want you to discard the leaders first then make a show of dispatching their followers. Stops others from forming ideas against me."  
"So you basically want me to be your attack dog?" Dean said, shaking his head as he found himself working for Crowley yet again.

"Yes and no, Squirrel. What I'm asking you to do is a double edged sword. You getting rid of those opposing me means I take control of Hell again and keeps my back free, but it also means you go public with the Mark and Blade as well as being a demon. This should significantly lower the numbers of those who want you dead." Crowley's lip twitched, trying to contain a smile "Or double them."

Dean's expression was contemplative heart thumping as adrenaline coursed through his veins, Mark beginning to thrum with power. He raised his gaze to Crowley, nodding his assent.  
"Good." Crowley reached for his crystal decanter containing a 1864 Single Malt and pouring a generous amount into a tumbler. "Well?" Crowley asked, eyebrows raised and indicating the door.

Dean turned to the doors, jaw set and body pulsing.

A dozen demons muttered amongst themselves in the dimly light board room, walls a faded burnt red with fantastic paintings of past battles mounted on the walls. Their tones were hushed, eyes darting suspiciously around, wondering what the King had planned and finalising ideas and plans.  
The thick dark doors slide open, and all turned their gaze to the entering figure.

"Winchester!" A dark skinned male demon snarled, eyes flitting black along with the others.

Dean stood in the middle of the doorway, watching as the demons banded together, cautiously eyeing him and the Blade. Dean took another step forward, and the demon who had spoke threw his arms out, power washing harmlessly over Dean.  
The demon's eyebrows drew close in confusion, then be bared his teeth and threw twice the previous power at Dean, lights swaying violently and several images fell to the floor as the room began to shake. Dean stood in place, the power parting over him and only ruffling his like a light breeze.  
"I don't understand, why isn't it working? How is he even down here?" A demon near the back quietly asked, scared eyes pinned on Dean as she slowly backed away.  
Dean stalked forward, Mark burning and the Blade held securely in his hand. The demons scurried back from him, fear lacing their faces as they realised their fate.  
One demon, in desperation, gave a cry and charged Dean, only to be kicked savagely in the gut and the First Blade buried deep inside his skull.

Dean's blood sang as the body fell to the ground, thump almost eclipsed by the pounding of his heart. He watched as a dark red pool gathered around the corpses head, seeing himself reflected on the shiny surface. Dean raised his eyes to the rest of the demons, a sick thrill of pleasure ran through him at seeing them huddled at the back of the room, cornered, defenceless.

The doors suddenly slid shut with a vicious 'snap'. Dean smiled, eyes gleaming predatorily as a blonde female demon let out a pathetic whimper.  
He blinked, eyes switching black and mirroring the shocked and terrified faces of the demons in front of him, before he surged forward and attacked.

Outside, Crowley reclined in his chair, tumbler of Single Malt in hand as he listened to the pained and terrified screams of the demons trapped with Dean. Listening to the screams, he took a sip of the Malt, savouring the heady flavour and swallowed. Picking up the Winchester Gospel from his desk, Crowley flipped to the page he had marked continuing to read from his previous point as the screams wove with the soft classical track that flowed through the room.

When Castiel re-entered Heaven, Hannah stood waiting for him, offering a small smile at the tired expression on his face.  
"How did your meeting with Samuel Winchester go?" She asked politely. Even though she held a great dislike for the older brother, Dean, she did feel sympathetic towards the youngest, Sam. Loosing a brother was painful. Hannah had lost many of her siblings, so she understood the Winchester's need to seek comfort from Castiel.  
Cas paused, debating on whether to reveal the situation or not.

"It was... Interesting." He answered ambiguously, heading towards the prison.  
"'Interesting?' In what way?" Hannah asked, increasing her pace to keep up with Castiel.  
Cas turned his head to take in the curious expression on Hannah's face, and frowned, not entirely sure of what to say next.  
"Something... Something I didn't expect happened. But Sam and I dealt with it. I'd also rather not talk about it, if that's ok." Cas said, increasing his gait.  
"Of course, Castiel. I am sorry I pried." Hannah answered, lowering her head so that the hurt she felt would not be seen.  
Sensing his sisters unhappiness, Castiel stopped, turned and looked down at Hannah.  
"Hannah, I asked not to talk of the matter not because I don't trust you, but because it is something personal that I must handle on my own. Forgive me for upsetting you, sister." Cas gently gripped her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. A gesture Dean often did when approving or trying to convey some form of affectionate feelings.  
Hannah, smiled and nodded her head, a small "Thank you" coming from her lips.

As the pair presumed their walk, Cas asked "Since I left, has Metatron revealed anything?"  
Looking frustrated, Hannah replied "I'm sorry, but he has not. He just continued saying how what he was doing was for the good of all of us."  
Castiel sighed, limbs feeling like lead. "We need to find a spell that will open the gates of Heaven again. Our brothers and sisters need to be returned." Castiel said, determined.  
"But how, Castiel? Metatron is the only one who would of such a spell, and with the angel tablet destroyed we cannot know if the spell will work or make matters worse."  
Cas nodded, frowning in concentration. "Indeed. If Metatron will not reveal information willing, we need to consider methods of extracting it from him."  
"You mean torture!" Hannah exclaimed, a surprised and shocked expression set on her face.  
"Only as a last resort. I do not wish to resort to such methods, but if necessary then we must. But before that, we have to exhaust every other possible avenue." Cas explained, coming to a stop outside of the prison doors.

"Are you with me, Hannah?" Castiel asked.  
Looking slightly confused at the phrase, Hannah nodded. "Even though I don't grasp the full concept of your words, I understand you are asking whether I will help you?"  
"Yes, I am." Cas answered, reaching for the silver door handle.  
"Then yes, Castiel. I am with you."

Nodding, Cas took a deep breath and opened the door.

Metatron watched as the two angles entered from behind his bars, eyes calculating and small smile on his lips. "Ah, Castiel! Do tell me, did Dean survive?"  
Cas' shoulders seized up, anger flaring up his spine and voice like gravel as he ground out "No."  
Metatron pursed his lips, a thoughtful look upon his face. "Pity. I did rather like him." He lifted his eyes up smiling at the murderous glare Castiel aimed at him.  
"So, what can I do for you today?"

"NO- NO! Please!" Crowley smiled and looked up from the novel as the last scream was abruptly cut short. He looked to the antique clock on his desk, surprised to see that only an hour had gone by.  
"I do admit, that didn't take as long as I thought it would." He said, turning to look at the sweat and blood soaked Hunter before him. Dean breathed heavily, eyes still black as he looked to Crowley.  
The Demon king tilted his head to the side, looking past the Hunter and to the carnage in the room behind him. The walls were cracked, some areas crumpled in from a body being slammed into them and completely drenched in blood. The paintings hung or lay in tatters, the Ash table and chairs in splinters, while limbs and bodies lay broken or separated, scattered throughout the room like disconnected pieces of a macabre puzzle.

"I must admit, Dean, I'm impressed with your work." Crowley spoke, rising and crossing to the front of his desk. "Really am. Alastair taught you well."  
"Where are the others?" Dean ground out, eyes returning to normal but pupils dilated with bloodlust, leaving a small ring of green.  
"All in due time, Dean. But first, a toast." Crowley manifested another tumbler, filled it generously and handed it to Dean, then did the same to his own.  
Raising his tumbler in front of him, Crowley knocked their drinks together saying "Cheers!" And watched as Dean drained the tumbler in one go.

"Welcome back, Dean."


	5. Chapter 5

_Sam felt like he was running in slow motion, limbs turning to lead and preventing him from making it to Dean's side in time. Gritting his teeth, he pushed harder, muscles burning and straining as he raced into the warehouse. Reaching the top of the stairs he panted hard, body covered in sweat and tingling with the adrenaline rush. Dean lay crumpled against the wall, face bloodied and Blade loose in his hand.  
"DEAN!" Sam bellowed, causing the older Hunter to turn widened, frightened eyes towards him. Dean opened his mouth to shout something back, but the angel blade piercing through his chest and into his heart stopped any words from escaping.  
"NO!" Sam ran down the steps, but time seemed to slow, making him take in the pained and surprised look in Dean's eyes as he fell back, eyelids drooping as the spark of life in them diminished then flickered out.  
"No! Please, please, NO!" Sam howled, skidding to a stop by his brothers side, cradling Dean's battered face between his large hands.  
"Dean, Dean! Come on, you gotta open your eyes! Open your eyes! Dean!" Sam shook his brother, Dean's body limp and lifeless, growing cold to the touch. Tears streamed down Sam's face, as he hugged his brother's lifeless form to his chest, begging for him to wake up._

Slowly, Sam felt a weak pressure around his waist, which tightened till he realised Dean was hugging him back.  
Pulling away, Sam looked into the dazed expression on his elder brother's face. "Dean, you're alive." Sam breathed, voice chocked and tears blurring his vision.  
Dean gave a grunt, head falling forward onto Sam's shoulder, as Sam stood them both up.  
"Dean, you ok?" Sam asked, holding him close with an arm around his waist for support.  
"I'm fine, Sammy." Dean replied, voice clear and a chuckle escaped his lips. Lifting his head, Dean blinked, eyes flashing black as a manic grin split his face. "I've never felt better."

He then plunged the First Blade into Sam's stomach.

Sam shot up from the desk, arms flying out to prevent himself from falling off the chair backwards, heart thumping like he had run a marathon, sweat drenching his body and making his shirt stick to him uncomfortably, while his stomach flipped and twisted, the phantom ache of the First Blade impaling him making his skin crawl.

Shaking his head, Sam tried to rid his mind of the manic smile and evil glint in Dean's black eyes, reminding himself it was only a nightmare and that Dean would never do that to him. Massaging the bridge of his nose, Sam looked to the clock, seeing it was past 2 in the morning, then down at the notes and files he had revised again and again. Still he had found nothing in Father Thompson's notes that revealed how his cure would affect a Knight or a demon marginally as powerful as them.

Flipping the files closed, Sam pushed his chair back, joints popping as he stood and stretched, releasing a giant yawn.  
Padding out of his room and down the hall to the kitchen, Sam opened the fridge, pulling out a beer and leftovers, placing them on a tray and heading towards the dungeon.

"I got you some dinner." Sam said as he placed the tray on a nearby table and started to open the doors. Sam frowned at silence that greeted him. "Dean, you ok?" Still nothing but silence.  
Sam quickly pulled the doors open, an empty room greeting him. Looking to the open shackles and cracked Devil's Trap, he muttered "Damnit." spinning on his heel and ran from the room, calling for his brother.

It took Sam exactly 45 minutes to check every room, closet, secret hiding place and shower stall in the bunker. It took another hour and 15 to try and find the First Blade.  
"Dean, this is the fifth time I've called you. Answer your phone!" Sam snapped into his mobile before disconnecting and violently shutting the small device.

Dean had been gone for a few hours, most likely helped to escape by Crowley, and with the Blade missing as well Sam's nerves were near shot.  
Pacing before Dean's bedroom door, Sam bit his lip, eyes drawn close in concentration as he tried to think of where Dean would have possibly gone.

The bunker's alarm system blared to life, sound almost deafening, and viciously jarred Sam from his thoughts.  
Sprinting down the corridor to the main area, Sam was presented with an elder man sitting at one of the tables, eating the leftovers Sam had gotten for Dean's dinner. He wore a simple off white shirt, light brown trousers and black boots. Chewing, he raised his eyes to Sam as he came to a halt, confusion written across his face.  
Swallowing, he said "Good morning, Sam. Hope you don't mind, seemed a shame to let it go to waste."

Sam's jaw dropped, words eluding him. Eventually he managed to force out "Who are you?" Wincing as the continuous high trill of the alarm caused a headache to begin to bloom behind his left eye.  
"Ah, yes. Sorry about that." The stranger replied, clicking his fingers and the alarm stopped, quick double beep informing Sam it had reset itself.

"I believe you asked who I am." The stranger said, standing from the table and gently sliding his chair back into place.  
"I am Cain." He said, raising his gaze to look at his young descendant.

"Sam, we need to talk about Dean."

Sam's Adam's bobbed manically, eyes darting over Cain, his ancestor, the Father of Murder, a demon.  
"What do you want?" He bit out, shoulders tense as Cain scrutinised him with a cold stare.  
"Is Dean a demon?" Cain asked abruptly, eyes watching Sam's reaction.  
Sam paused, debating on whether to reveal the truth of Dean's new fate or not, but the look on Cain's face expressed that he didn't have to.  
"How did you know he was a demon?" Sam asked, eyebrows drawn down.  
Cain pulled the sleeve on his right arm up, revealing an unmarked forearm, but tentatively ran his fingers over the area where he had bore his Mark.  
"I possessed the Mark for more than a millennium, Sam. Even after I gave it to, Dean, I could still feel traces of its power. I felt how it was slowly changing your brother, twisting him to its will. And I felt how it changed when he died." Cain explained, lowering his sleeve.

"Dean and I are very similar in our attitudes. I see a lot of my younger self in him, and that is why I am here, Sam. Like me, Dean has darkness inside of him. He hid it well, but by becoming a demon this darkness will be allowed free. Dean will turn into a monster of every nightmare combined. He will turn into me." Cain paused, closing his eyes and took a deep breath.  
"He's already starting down that road. I can feel it. The bloodlust, the power, the anger, it will change him Sam, and the brother you knew and loved will be lost to you." Cain spoke, opening his eyes which were devoid of emotion.

"How do I stop him from turning? I've been researching the demon cure. Do you think it would work?" Sam asked, desperation thick in his voice.  
"I have heard of this cure, but I do not think it will save your brother. I am sorry, Sam, but you must find another way to save, Dean."

With that Cain disappeared, leaving Sam spluttering in the empty main area of the bunker.

Cas stood glaring at the former proclaimed God, fists clenched at his sides. "We need to know the spell that will reopen the Gates of Heaven." He spoke tightly, voice like gravel.  
With a mock puppy expression, Metatron shrugged his shoulders "I have no idea of what you're talking about."  
"You claimed of returning us all home. There must be a spell to reopen the Gates!" Hannah exclaimed sharply.  
"And if I did know of such a spell, what makes you think I would tell you?" Metatron sneered at her.  
Hannah opened her mouth to give a scathing response, but was stopped by Castiel.  
"Hannah! Please could you leave me and Metatron alone for a moment."  
With her lips sealed tightly, Hannah nodded and strode from the prison.

"Well, Castiel, look at you! Taking up the reins of leadership yet again." Metatron spoke, giving a smile that didn't reach his eyes.  
"What is the spell, Metatron?" Cas growled out.  
"Oh, Castiel. Even if I told you the spell, what difference would it make? Our brothers and sisters return home, and who is there to lead them? You?" Metatron shouted, rising from his perch on the small cot in his cell.  
"I have no wish to be a leader." Cas spoke calmly, watching as Metatron stalked towards the bars.  
"No, you don't. But they need a leader. If they return to Heaven then civil war will break out again, and there will be no Heavenly host left!"  
"We cannot leave them on Earth! Too many innocent humans have been caught in the crossfire." Cas narrowed his gaze. "You claim to care the human race unlike our Father, yet you allowed countless numbers of them to be slaughtered during the battles between the factions. And what of those who cannot enter Heaven? Do you not care that they are left to suffer? That they are confused, lost, scared and alone because they cannot move on."

"Of course I care, Castiel! I care more for the human race than even you! But their suffering is not to be blamed on me! You are the one who had to go and ruin my plans! You and those Winchester's!" Metatron gripped the bars of his cell tightly, knuckles turning white. "All the suffering that the humans feel is because of you."

Metatron released the bars, spinning and sitting himself facing away from Castiel.  
Cas huffed, shoulders sagging as he left the prison. Metatron would not reveal the spell willingly, and so he had to find more unorthodox methods of retrieving it.

Hannah stood waiting for him, arms folded behind her back.  
"Try every possible method to get him to reveal the spell." He ordered, before disappearing with a flutter of feathers.

Landing in a deserted parking area, Castiel called out. "Crowley, I am in need of your assistance."  
A few seconds ticked by, then the thick British drawl came from behind him. "The last time we tried to help each other out, Castiel, you turned yourself into the new God."  
Castiel turned, looking at the black clad figure of the demon standing beneath a lamp. "I have no intention of repeating such a mistake again."  
"Good." Crowley spoke, walking slowly forward, "Now, what can I do for you?"  
Cas paused, licking his dry lips "The method you used to extract information from Samandriel and Gadreel, I need you to perform it on Metatron for me."

Crowley let out a large exhale. "Well, using such a method is really touch and go, but I do think I could perform it for you. Anything in particular you want me to be looking for?"  
"A spell." Cas replied.  
"You're going to have to be more specific, Castiel. What type of spell?"  
Cas turned his head away, jaw set. "The spell that will reopen the Gates to Heaven."

Crowley's eyes twinkled. "Ah." was his reply. "Well, when you have Metatron in place, give me a call."

Crowley disappeared, leaving Castiel standing in the cold parking lot.


	6. Chapter 6

Sweat dripped down Dean's forehead, creating clear tracks on his blood splattered skin. A demon whimpered from its place on the rack before him, limbs twisted and bent in un-natural shapes, body shivering and twitching as a fiery pain laced through them. A muffled gurgle cry tore itself from the demons throat, jaw hanging at an odd angle, as Dean stalked forward, serrated blade in hand, and lightly dragged the ridges over the exposed nerves of the left arm, eliciting a howling shriek from the demon, as it withered and tried to shrink back from him.  
Dean smirked, retracting the blade and pressing it between the collar bones, feeling it catch and scrap against the bone. The demon convulsed and squealed, thrashing against the leather straps that kept it pinned down.

A hand clasped Dean's shoulder, stopping him from carving into a small section of unmarked flesh. Twisting his head, Dean saw Crowley looking down at his work, admiration shining in his eyes.  
"I'm very impressed, Dean. You've gotten better since you were last here. Get some practice in Purgatory?" Crowley asked, examining the two dozen other racks holding demons in various states of dismemberment and mutilation, all of them dead.  
"Here and there." Dean answered, pulling his shoulder free and slicing deeply into the demon, who let out a weak moan.

"Hate to cut your fun short, but I do need to be somewhere." Crowley said, picking up the First Blade and examining it "If you could finish this last one quickly, I would be grateful. Wouldn't want to miss my date with your little angel pet, now would I?" Crowley's eyes sparkled with mirth as he handed the Blade to Dean.  
"The last time you and Cas worked together, Leviathans planned on eating us all." Dean muttered, deciding where the final stroke would fall.  
"Indeed, but he's promised to behave himself. He even brought me a present in the shape of the Scribe of God."  
Dean raised the Blade, pausing before bringing it down on the screeching demon."Metatron? Cas is having you torture Metatron?" Dean states, although it came out more as a question.  
"It appears Castiel and his feathered siblings are lacking in informational extraction. They're looking for a spell to reopen Heavens gates, and have asked me to find it."

Dean nodded, bring the First Blade down in an arching motion, abruptly cutting off the demons screams as its head fell to the ground below with a wet thump.  
Wiping the Blade clean on the tattered remains of its clothes, Dean vanished, whispers filling the silence he left behind.

Appearing in his room, Dean saw it was half 5 in the morning. Throwing the Blade onto a nearby chair, Dean caught sight of himself in his mirror; face and hair caked in blood, sweat and grime, clothes completely beyond any salvation, and eyes wide and alert, green nearly consumed by black, finger tips tingling and heart beating fast and strong, excess adrenaline still pumping around his system.  
He needed to clean off, and a shower would help bring him down from this hyped state.

Standing under the hot spray, Dean scrubbed himself clean but the constant replay of his torture session kept his muscles tensed and adrenaline still thrumming.  
Turning off the water with a sigh, Dean stepped out of the shower, towelling himself dry and had just managed to get a fresh pair of clothes on before the bathroom door was suddenly pushed open, Sam's massive frame filling the doorway.

"Dean, where have you been? I called you 5 times over the last few hours!" Sam exclaimed, a deep scowl etched onto his face. As his gaze fell onto the bloody pile of clothing near the foot of the counter, his face became lax, colour draining as he turned wide eyes to his older brother. "Dean, what have you done?" Sam uttered.

"Relax, Sam. I was only torturing demons." Dean explained, placing the ruined clothing into a black bin-liner he had brought with him.  
Sam gaped, Cain's earlier words ringing in through his head.  
"Dean, you have to stop this." Sam spoke calmly, taking a step into the bathroom.  
"And why would I stop, Sammy. Last time I checked, killing demons was our job." Dean answered, washing his hands of the blood that stained them.  
"Yeah Dean, killing demons. Not torturing them!" Seeing that his words had no effect, Sam wet his lips. "Dean, if you continue down this road, I won't be able to save you. You'll change, turn into a monster, and then I'll have no choice but to stop you. Please, Dean, don't let it come to that." Sam pleaded.

"I don't need saving, Sam!" Dean snapped, irritation bubbling through his already highly strung system. "I may be a demon, but I don't need you tryna fix me all the time. I'm harder to kill, stronger, faster, which pretty much makes me a far better Hunter than when I was human."  
"But can you control the anger, the hate, the bloodlust and desire to hurt people? Can you control yourself, because from what I've seen you can't." Sam ground out, anger building rapidly.  
"Get off my case, Sam!" Dean growled, storming past his younger brother.

"Hey! Dean, we're not finished." Sam shouted, grabbing hold of Dean's arm and preventing him from leaving.  
Spinning, Dean's fist flew through the air, landing with a loud crunch against Sam's nose and making him stumble backwards.

Clutching his bloody nose, Sam bent over grunting at the pain that bloomed across his face.  
"Aww, did that hurt, Sammy?" Dean asked mockingly, smirk on his lips and glint in his eyes. "Want me to kiss it better?"  
Lunging forward, Sam's fist violently connected with Dean's mouth, jerking his head back and making him tip backwards.  
Regaining his balance, Dean smiled widely, teeth stained red and eyes switching completely black.  
"Oh, it's on little brother." He sneered and barrelled into Sam.

The two crashed together, limps lashing out and bodies slamming forcefully onto the tiled floor. Sam held Dean down, raining punches onto his face, only to be shoved back by Dean's foot connecting with his stomach. Dean lurched to his feet, smile still splitting his face and rushed at Sam, landing a few hits, but then had his face smashed into the unbroken mirror, small pieces of glass cutting his forehead.  
With a growl, Dean pushed back, throwing Sam off balance and tackled him to the floor.

Sitting across Sam's waist, Dean grabbed hold of his head, bringing it up and viciously smashed Sam's head onto the floor, again and again, till his vision swam and red stained the tiles beneath his head.  
Sam's gaze floated around the room, eyes glazed over and vision blurring black around the edges. A red line slowly working its way down the side of Dean's face caught his attention. He focused on it, trying to stop the ringing in his ears and the rolling of the room.

Dean's eyes catch where Sam's eyes landed and his smile grew even wider. "What a taste, Sammy?" He asked, and swiped his fingers through the dark, sticky liquid and smeared it across Sam's lips.  
Sam struggled to wriggle away, a slurred "No." escaping from him. Dean pinned him to the floor, snarling taunts at Sam as he reached for a shard of glass and slashed his hand deeply.  
Holding Sam's head still with his uninjured hand, Dean clamped his bloody hand over Sam's mouth, forcing his blood down his brother's throat.  
Sam continued to struggle weakly, muffled protests forcing their way past his covered lips.  
"Come on, Sammy, it's not that bad. Remember how you felt on just Ruby's blood? Imagine what'll be like having mine pumping through your veins.

Slowly, the high of the torture began to ebb as Dean's blood flowed out of him, and he began to come back to himself. Looking down at Sam pinned below him, dread flared through Dean, his face becoming pale and eyes returning to their normal forest green.  
Muscles becoming slack, Sam dislodged Dean, rolling over onto his stomach and trying to cough up the blood forced down his throat, refusing to look at Dean.

Jaw hanging open and feeling like he might throw up, Dean croaked out "Sammy, I'm so sorry."  
"Get out." Sam mumbled, voice hoarse and form shaking.  
"Sammy-"  
"GET OUT!" Sam roared, making Dean's mouth snap shut. He disappeared from the room without another word, leaving Sam's shaking and heaving form in the bathroom.

Cas arrived in Heaven with a flutter of feathers, shoulders drawn back and with an authoritative stride.  
"Hannah, report on anything new." Castiel called, walking towards the female angel.  
"He has declared nothing new, Castiel." Hannah informed him, standing at attention.  
Castiel nodded his head, taking hold of Hannah's upper arm and guided her off to the side.

"Castiel, what is wrong?" Hannah asked, expression confused.  
Cas looked around, making sure they were not being listened to. "I know of a method that will reveal the spell to reopen Heaven's gates, but it is very unconventional. I need you to prepare Metatron to be transported to a secure location." He ordered, looking down on her.  
"Is it wise moving him around, Castiel? Could the method you speak of not be done here?" She asked, eyebrows drawn close.

Shaking his head, Castiel replied "No, performing it here would not work. I don't know how to perform the method, but I know someone who has agreed to perform it for us. That is why we have to move him."  
"Of course. I'll see that he is prepared right away." Hannah answered, bowing her head and leaving for the prison.

Castiel landed in the abandoned warehouse he had chosen, picking up a can of spray paint and covering the walls in angel prison sigils. As Castiel finished the sigils, Hannah and two other angels holding Metatron between them arrived.  
Turning to the high backed chair he had previously bolted to the floor, Castiel indicated for Metatron to be secured to the seat.

"Thank you. Could you please wait outside." Cas asked, facing Metatron.  
The echoing footfalls informed him of the other angel's departure, and he began to draw an angel trap around Metatron.

"This little plan of yours to try and get the spell from me, won't work, Castiel. Torture me all you want, I will never tell you!" Metatron shouted from his restrained position.  
Castiel gave no response, only finished off the trap and called for Crowley.

It takes a few moments, but the demon eventually appears.  
"Hello, Darling." He spoke, amusement sparkling in his at the furious look upon Metatron's face.  
"A demon! You're having a demon torture me!" Curses in enochian spewed from Metatron's lips, his eyes bulging and face flushed red.

"Has quite the mouth on him, doesn't he, Castiel?" Crowley said, slowly approaching the restrained angel. Stooping down to be eye level, Crowley smiled, bringing out the silver screws from inside of his coat.  
Metatron's curses stop, eyes scrutinising the instruments in Crowley's possession.

"What are those for?" He asked, eyes shooting up to Crowley's face.  
"Don't worry, pet, you see soon enough." Crowley answered, smiling widely. "This might hurt a little." Crowley said, pressing the screw into Metatron's forehead.

Metatron's scream echoed throughout the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Light rock anthems blared from the small speakers set around the bar, patrons loud conversations mixing and making it difficult to pin point which conversation was coming from where.  
Dean sat hunched on a stool in some nameless roadside bar in the middle of nowhere, face bleak and indicated to the bartender for another drink. The bartender looked hesitant before he refilled the tumbler. "Take it easy, ok man? You've already had quite a bit to drink." He said, capping the bottle and putting it back on the shelf behind him. "This is me taking it easy." Dean replied then drained the entire tumbler in one go, while the bartender shook his head, no more comments being made.

Staring into space, eyebrows drawn low over his eyes, Dean's earlier words replayed in his head. _"Remember how you felt on just Ruby's blood? Imagine what it'll be like having mine pumping through your veins."_  
His stomach rolled uncomfortably and Dean dropped his face into his hands, shaking his head and feeling disgusted at what he had done.  
He'd wandered around aimlessly for most of the day, not knowing where he was or where to go, the bunker off limits for the time being with Sam undoubtedly pissed at him. His baby brother would most likely shoot him with a round of rock salt rather than let him apologise. Dean couldn't really blame him.  
Dean shook his head again. It had been years since Sam last touched demon blood, having finally kicked the addiction and then Dean had to go and ram a whole lot of it down his brother's throat.

He indicated for another refill, the copious amounts of alcohol he drank no longer giving him the escape from his thoughts and guilt like it used to. The bartender refilled his tumbler, no comment made on how'd he'd had enough to drink. Maybe he sensed that trying to would get him nowhere and would only worsen Dean's already sour mood.  
Instead of downing this drink like its predecessors, Dean loosely cradled it in his hand, thinking of what he could say or do to make it up to Sam.

A hand suddenly clamped tightly on his left shoulder, making Dean tense and he swivelled his head to take in the faces of five Hunters, three of which he knew and two who were strangers to him.  
The Hunter holding his shoulder was named Jason Brooks, a guy his dad had become friends with when they took down a Wendigo in West Virginia.

"Dean Winchester, how you doing man?" Jason greeted warmly, patting Dean enthusiastically on the shoulder. "Hey, you remember Max and Harry, right? And these two are Jim and Mike." Jason continued, pointing to each individual who gave their own small greeting.  
"Hey guys, how you all doing?" Dean asked lazily not really caring. "And I've been doing fine." He answered, leaning back against the bar to get his shoulder out from under Jason's grubby hand.  
"That's good to hear, yeah" Jason replied, pausing and taking a breath "Listen, I know this was years ago, but I just wanted to say I'm sorry about your dad. He was a good man and very close friend. When he died, me and the boys felt his loss too, ain't that right fellas?" Jason asked, turning to Max and Harry who eagerly nodded their heads.  
"Thanks, I appreciate it." Dean answered dryly, internally rolling his eyes.

"So, what you doing in these parts?" Jason asked, sliding onto the barstool next to Dean, other four curving around them.  
"Just passing through, needed a bit of a break so came in for a drink." Dean answered, thinking of excuses he could use to slip away.  
"Ok. You still going round with Sam? Actually, where is that freakishly tall brother of yours, Dean? Would be able to spot him a mile away." Jason asked, survey the bar for the hulking form of Sam.  
Dean hesitates before answering, irritation beginning to rise at all the questioning. "We're kinda going through a rough patch at the moment." He took a sip of the amber fluid inside his tumbler, turning to face the bar again.  
"I'm sorry to hear that, Dean." Jason replied, a sympathetic expression on his face that even Dean could tell was fake. "But let's not dwell on sibling rivalry and issues. Come, Dean! Have a drink with us." Jason said brightly, too large grin splitting his face.  
"Thanks, but, ah, I've got my own drink." Dean answered, holding up his tumbler "I'm fine."  
"Dean, man, come on! Have a drink with us!"Jason said again, sounding even more enthusiastic than before, with the others joining in as well, and gave Dean a light punch on the arm.

"I said I'm fine!" Dean barked, nostrils flared and fingers gripping the glass tightly.  
Jason and the others looked surprised at Dean's outburst, a few patrons looking over to see what the commotion was about.  
"Ok. Sorry. We'll just leave you alone then." Jason said, standing up and moving to the other side of the building, the others trailing behind him.

Dean sighed, feeling the eyes of the Hunters and half the patrons in the bar on him. Downing the remainder of his drink, he threw a couple of notes onto the counter and headed for the toilets.

Alone in the rest room, Dean tried to shake the tension from his shoulders, pressing down on the anger that threatened to bubble to the surface inside of him.  
Finishing, Dean had just zipped his jeans and buttoned them closed, before his body was colliding face first with the wall.

Spinning around to face his assailant, Dean howled in pain and anger as Holy Water was thrown into his face, burning him and feeling like his entire body had been dumped into boiling water.  
Snapping his eyes open, black and brimming with rage, Dean snarled at the shocked look on Jason's face, who took two stumbling steps back in utter disbelief at what he was seeing. Raising his arm and thrusting it forward, Dean sent the other Hunter soaring through the air and into the opposite wall of the restroom, with bone jarring force, the lights exploding throughout the bar. Jason landed heavily on the floor, coughing and wheezing, trying to get his stunned lungs to breathe again.  
Managing to get onto his hands and knees, Jason stilled as the heavy footfalls of Dean's boots stopped next to him.  
Wearily raising his head, he saw a deep sneer on Dean's face, the sole of his boot blocking out his vision as Dean delivered a vicious kick to his unprotected head.  
Jason's body sagged to the floor, unconscious, as Dean stood glaring down at him, rage rolling inside him.

Turning for the door, Dean's eyes returned to normal, but remained hard and seething with anger as he navigated his way through the dimly lit bar, people scattering around in confusion because of the power failure that broke most of the lights.  
Outside its dark, clouds covering the sky and blocking out what little moonlight there was. Dean headed towards the road, uncontrolled emotions running riot through him and making the air around him pulse.  
Feeling the hairs on his arms and neck rise, Dean began to turn only to have a fist thrown into his face and an iron chain wrapped around his throat. His scream comes out gurgled, the chain too tight, skin burning, and has a swift kick delivered to his abdomen and legs before he is dragged behind the establishment.  
Thrown to the ground, Dean unwinds the chain from around his neck, grunting as it burns his hands and neck, skin peeling and blisters forming. Looking up, he sees the remainder of the Hunter group standing around him, shotguns loaded with salt all aimed at him.  
"Where's Jason!" Max shouted, spittle flying from between his lips and forehead shining with sweat.  
Dean starts to rise slowly, seeing he's inside a hastily drawn Devil's Trap, and looks at each man, faces set hard but hearts beating too fast and fear wafting off of them in waves. It made Dean's blood sing and a sadistic pleasure uncurl inside him.

A smile breaks across Dean's face, evil and mocking, as his eyes flash black, making Max take a step back.  
"He's inside." Dean answered, smile still on his face "You better let me out of this, or things will start to get ugly." He continued, black eyes twinkling with childlike mischief.  
They all laughed, trying to cover their fear. "What are you gonna do, Winchester? You're stuck in there and I don't see you getting out anytime soon." Mike shouted, drawing himself taller and looking down his nose at the demon.

Taking a wild leap of faith, Dean lets out a high pitched whistle, the sound echoing in the sudden stillness of the night. They all stand in tense silence, the Hunters looking around for signs of immediate danger, and when nothing happened they broke out in laughter, mocking Dean and letting their guard slip.  
But Dean could see the blue shifting form of a hellhound stalking forward from behind Harry and Jim. Their laughter abruptly ended as a deep growl vibrated through the ground, accompanying snarl rippling through the night air.  
Dean smiled, seeing Crowley's pet approach, bulky form moving gracefully as she decided on her first target. The Hunters went into a frenzy, shouts creating a canopy of tangled noise and weapons moving about aimlessly, trying to find the beast.

Juliana pounced on Max, the fool having gotten too close, knocking him to the floor and seized his leg between her giant jaws, fangs crushing bone and shredding muscle as he let out a blood curdling scream in pain. The others shot wildly, trying to hit a target they couldn't see, but also trying to avoid their injured friend. A salt round embedded itself in her shoulder, causing beast to let out a whimper and release her victim. A savage snarl rang through tore from the hound's throat as she leapt for Jim, claws digging deep gashes into his collars and down his chest.  
Harry stood in front of Dean, fingers shaking uncontrollably and eyes darting up and around frantically as he tried to reload his gun. Dean looked past him, at the large hellhound who sank her teeth with abandon into the ripped Hunters chest, blood shooting in every direction as she ripped Jim to pieces, the others letting out cries of horror and anger.

Dean whistled loudly again, making the hound raise her large red glowing eyes to him, licking her bloody maw and abandoning her meal. With a thundering growl she raced towards Harry, who stood with wide fearful eyes and a gaping mouth and threw himself out of her way just in time, as she leapt over him. Soaring through the air the beast landed beside Dean, claws racking through the ground and destroying the painted symbols that kept him captive.

Dean stepped out of the trap slowly, hand landing on the beasts large head as she sunk to her haunches, preparing to attack again, and gave a commanding "Stay". The hound rose, reaching to above Dean's waist, and scratching behind her ear, the hound released a booming purr, tilting her head back for easier access. Giving a final pet to her giant head, Dean ordered "Go back to Crowley." and watched as the beast took off into the distance, vapour like form disappearing in the surrounding darkness.

Looking down at the moaning and scattered forms of the Hunters, Dean smirked and vanished from the site, just as the red and blue flashes and sirens of police cars filled the parking lot.


	8. Chapter 8

Metatron let out another scream, the noise grating and broken as it filled the desolate room, making Castiel wince as it assaulted his sensitive ears. He screamed again as Crowley twisted the screw buried deep in his temple, eyes drawn close in concentration.  
"This has been going on for hours, Crowley. We should know the spell by now." Castiel huffed from his position of 3 feet away, body tense with impatience.  
"Well forgive me for not sticking to your time frame, but as I said before this procedure is very touch and go. Besides, this one's got a few extra defences up that I have to work my way around." Crowley twists the central spike, causing Metatron's body to arch and wail in abandon. "Which I seem to have finally gotten past." He said, smirk on his face. Giving a small twist of the screw in the right temple, Metatron screamed, body then suddenly relaxing as enochian spilt from his lips. "There we go." Crowley muttered happily.  
A grin broke across his face and he looked up proudly to Castiel, who hurriedly made his way over to the pair.

"Find the spell." Castiel ordered, gaze focused on Metatron's face. Rolling his eyes, Crowley sarcastically answered "Of course, Sir." and gave a brutal twist.

Dean appeared in the main area of the bunker, brushing dirt off his shirt and looking around for a little brother aiming a loaded shotgun at him.  
"Hey, Sam just to let you know I am back, and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't try and shoot me in the face with a salt round, kay?" The bunker remained empty of an angry armed brother, and Dean drew his eyebrows close, heading towards the corridor with his and Sam's rooms.  
"Sammy?" He called, but got no reply. Checking his phone, Dean saw no missed calls from Sam telling him where he was. "Sam?"

Reaching Sam's bedroom, Dean flipped the light switch on. He was greeted by a bare room. Sam's bed was stripped, desk cleared, clothes missing from the wardrobe and drawers. Any sign of Sam having lived in the room was completely obliterated.  
"Damnit, Sammy." Dean muttered, storming out of the room, ripping his phone open and dialling Sam's number.  
Dean pressed the phone to his ear, fingers clutching it tightly as he paced back and forth.  
"Hey, this is Sam, leave a message." Rang in Dean's ear. Swearing under his breath, Dean closed his phone thinking of what to do next.  
An idea coming to mind, Dean hurried down the corridor to the storage rooms, rummaging through the contents till he had gathered all the items he needed.

Placing everything on the table in the main area, Dean began to prepare the tracking spell, setting a map across the surface. Reciting the incantation, Dean set the map on fire watching as the flames ate the thin paper away till nothing but blacked pieces and ash were left.  
Frowning in confusion as to why the spell hadn't worked, Dean thought of what he had done wrong. He had used the right incantation, made it clear it was Sam he wanted to find, unless...  
"Hex bag." He muttered, closing his eyes in frustration. "Damnit, Sam!" He shouted, smashing his fist onto the table surface, fingers then carding through and pulling on his hair as anger and betrayal coursed through him. Grabbing hold of one of the chairs, Dean flung it towards the wall, the impact making it shatter into pieces. The table was flipped into a column, the wood cracking, lights fiercely flickering. The room began to tremble, alarms blaring deafly, as books began to fall off of the shelves.

Clenching his fists, Dean willed the trembling to stop, the bunker becoming still once more and cut the alarm off mid blare, leaving a charged silence in the air.  
In calculated movements, Dean pulled his phone from his jeans, scrolled through his contacts to Sam's name and pressed call. A lead weight filled his stomach as nothing but the continuous ringing filled his ear.

Glancing down at his phone on the passenger seat, Sam saw Dean's naming flashing across the screen again. Ignoring it, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, eyes focused ahead and pressed down on the accelerator, the Impala flying over the deserted stretch of road.  
Sam's heart beat spasmodically, pupils blown wide, muscles relaxing and contracting painfully tight at random intervals. His senses were in overdrive, making him hyper aware of the old aftershave scent that clung to the leather upholstery, the deep purr of the engine beneath his feet, his clothes feeling itchy and constricting to his over sensitive skin.

A gnawing hunger rippled through him, one Sam hadn't felt since he fell under Famine's influence. Sam gritted his teeth, his stomach feeling like a black hole had replaced it, everything seemingly being pulled into its endless abyss.  
Dean's blood pumped through his veins, a poison that slowly infected him and began to change him. His mind told him to reject the blood, but his body screamed out for another hit.

Seeing the red and blue flashing lights of police vehicles gathered in the parking-lot of some roadside bar, Sam furrowed his brow and slowed down, taking in the crowd of people outside, some animatedly talking to officers who wrote down what they said.  
Pulling over and retrieving one of the many fake ID's stored, Sam stepped out of the car and walked to the back of the crowd, looking over heads to catch a glimpse of what was happening.  
"... Vicious animal attack... Guy ripped to pieces... Said it was a wolf or large dog... Weird symbol thing drawn on the floor..." Wafted to him through the night air. Going around and ducking underneath the tape cornering off the back section of the bar, Sam flashed his badge at the officer trying to intercept him.

"Agent Rodriguez, can you tell me what's happened here?" Sam asked, standing to his full height and putting his badge into his jacket pocket.  
"FBI? Why would the FBI be interested in an animal attack?" The young officer asked, looking confused.  
"It's an ongoing investigation. We're keeping it under tight wraps for the moment. So, the Vic was viciously attacked by a large animal?" Sam asked, slipping into the role, but his hands trembled by his sides.  
"Yeah you could describe it like that." The young officer replied, looking away with a green tinge to his face.  
"Oh. And how would you describe it?" Sam asked, eyebrows drawn down close as he mentally went through the list of creatures responsible for the attack.  
"The guy was in pieces! Looked like something chewed him up and then spat him out again. His friend's leg ain't much better, but at least he survived."

Sam's head shot up. "There was more than one Vic?"  
"Well, yeah. There was a group of them. All of them banged up a bit but only one died." The officer replied. "You'll find them down there." He pointed off to the far end of the parking lot, obscured by shadows because of the broken street lamp.  
"Thanks." Sam said, making his way down to the end.

Reaching the end, Sam found two trucks parked in the shadows, but no people. Turning to leave, Sam took a stumbled step back, a broad figure blocking his path.  
"Sam Winchester." A familiar voice uttered, and stepped into the light behind him, revealing himself to be Jason Barrett.  
"Jason?" Sam said, confused as he walked forward to shake the other Hunters hand. "What are you doing here?"  
"Me and a group of guys were passing through, thought we stop for a little drink. We came out to get ready to leave and were attacked by some creature. We couldn't see the damn thing, shooting completely blind." Jason paused, licking his lips and flexing his fingers. "It attacked Max first. Ripped his leg up pretty good, but it was Jim that it killed. He was in ribbons, Sam! What kind of creature is capable of such a thing?" Jason shouted, anguish and pain tightening his throat.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Jason, but I may know what did this. Were there tracks left?" Sam asked, adrenaline pumping through him.  
"Yeah, there were. Me and the boys followed them into there." Jason indicated the small gathering of trees next to the trucks. "We think it hid in there before attacking."

Sam walked in front, eyes trained on the ground, looking for tracks left in the soil.  
"Jason, I don't see any tracks." Sam uttered, hairs rising on the back of his neck as small warning bells went off in his head.  
"Keep going further in." Jason encouraged from behind him.  
Sam kept walking, becoming tense as the air around him changed. He stopped and looked up when a twig snapped up ahead, seeing two other men.  
"Jason, what's going on?" Sam asked, on high alert and started to turn to the other Hunter, only to have the butt of a shotgun come crashing into the side of his head.

Sam's body hit the floor, Jason standing over him and glaring hatefully down at the unconscious younger Winchester. Looking to the Mike and Harry, Jason gave a small nod, setting the others into motion, tying Sam's ankles together as well as his hands behind his back. He was dragged back to the trucks and unceremoniously dumped into one of the beds.  
Jason stormed across the parking-lot, everyone oblivious to what had just happened and tore open the driver's door to the black sleek 1967 Chevy Impala. Seeing the cell phone on the passenger seat, Jason snatched it up, slamming the door closed. Looking around, he pulled a blade from inside his coat slashing the tyres and carving deep scratches into the paint work.

Finishing his work, he walked over and climbed into the dark blue truck that waited for him, driving off into the night with the second on his tail, no one having seen the young FBI agent go missing in the shadows.

The bunkers main area looked like war zone. Chairs, tables, shelves and books lay in discarded heaps all over the floor, a physical demonstration of the destructive emotions that wrecked their way through Dean.  
Pacing around the chaos littering the floor, like a caged animal, Dean brought a bottle of whiskey to his lips, draining the remainder of the liquid inside. The bottle empty, he flung it into the wall, shattering it and making glass rain down. It was the third bottle he had gone through since returning to the bunker a few hours prior.

"Breaking everything you can get your hands on isn't going to bring your brother back." A calm voice spoke from behind Dean.  
"Well, it makes me feel better." He replied gruffly, turning to see Cain against the railing, arms crossed over his chest.  
"I came to Sam, telling him that he needed to help save you. What could you have possibly done that would cause Sam to leave?" Cain asked, pushing off from the rail and heading towards his descendant.  
Dean lowered his head in shame, lips clamped shut.  
"Dean, what have you done?" Cain asked, voice taking on a hard edge.  
"I fed Sam my blood." He answered, jaw tight with disgust.

Cain's eyes blazed like blue flames, scorching Dean, who went with defence.  
"Hey, it's not like I meant to! I wasn't thinking-"  
"That's the problem, Dean, you weren't thinking!" Cain exploded, tremors shaking his body. "You didn't think about what you were doing, you just went along with your instincts!"  
"Following my instincts before never was a problem!" Dean bellowed, face contorted and teeth bared.  
"No, but following them as a demon means people die!" Dean flew backwards, landing hard against the wall, pinned down by Cain's power.  
"If you follow your instincts, Dean, this is what you'll become." Cain told him, eyes switching black as he clasped Dean's face between his hands and let his memories for the past millennium invade Dean's mind.

Dean threw his head back, shouting and trying to break free of Cain's hold as the screams, cries, and faces of all Cain's victims surged through his head. Wave after wave their deaths played out before him, brutal, agonising, evil. Men, women, children, infants, the elderly, rich, poor, wicked and fair, it did not matter who they were, they all burned.

Releasing him Dean sunk to the floor, face pale, body shivering and covered in sweat.  
"That is only a glimpse of the monster you will become if you stay on this path." Cain spoke, vanishing in the next instant.

Dean sat shaking, bile rising in his throat, clasping his hands together. "Please please, help me." He uttered pleadingly.

A shrill ringing broke the silence of the room and Dean lurched to his feet, trying to find his phone. Hidden under a open book, Dean looked at Sam's name flashing across the screen.

"Sammy?" He asked desperately, stomach somersaulting at finally reaching him.  
"Guess again, Dean." A cool voice purred over the line, making Dean's heart contract, ice and fire surging through him together.  
"Jason." He growled, eyes becoming black and lips pulled back in a snarl "Where's Sam.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam's head hurt. Or more specifically, it felt like a sledge hammer was trying its best to smash its way out of his skull, while a continuous high ringing played alongside the rhythmic pounding, making his head swim and stomach lurch dangerously.  
Sam groaned, trying to lift his head and finding that it only intensified the torture his poor skull was enduring, dropped it back down. Muffled noises reached him over the pounding, and slowly blinking his eyes open, Sam tried to focus on the blurry figures before him.

"Sam? He's here." A cheerful voice said, blurry body beginning to take on more sharp and solid angles. "Oh, looks like someone just woke up!" The figure approached him, and up close Sam was able to make out the smiling face of Jason. "Say hi to your big brother, Sam!"  
His phone was pressed to his ear, a confused expression on his face as Sam looked at his unfamiliar surroundings.  
"Sam, Sammy! Talk to me, man!" Dean shouted, his volume making Sam wince as the pounding increased.  
"Dean?" Sam slurred, mind slowly starting to work again, as he saw the demon warding symbols painted on the barn walls and Devil's Trap on the floor. "Dean, trap-" Sam got out before the phone was quickly ripped away from him.  
"Uh, uh, Sammy! You'll ruin the surprise." Jason chided, putting the phone back to his ear.

"Hey Dean, me again!" Jason called happily, strolling away from the dazed Hunter.  
"Why are you doing this, Jason?" Dean demanded, voice tense and dangerous.  
"It's quite simple. This is revenge for Jim's life and Max's leg, you demonic scumbag!" Jason roared, anger surging to the surface.  
"If you wanted revenge, then why not come directly after me? Why target Sam?"  
"Actually, taking Sam wasn't planned. By coincidence he turned up at the same bar you and your mutt attacked us. Couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth could we?"  
Jason slowly turned around, eyes racking up and down Sam's form.  
"Besides, Dean, I wanna know how much humanity is left in you. So, what we are going to do is see if you'll save your brother or yourself." Jason spoke, voice becoming falsely cheerful again. "Little Sammy here, is going to become my new chew toy until you turn yourself over, Dean. You might wanna get here quickly, or else you'll miss out on all the fun."

With that Jason hung up.

Walking around he rolled the phone between his hands, gaze far away.  
"Tell me, Sam, did you know that Dean was a demon?" Jason asked, voice calm but barely concealing the hint of a threat.  
Sam's jaw tightened, eyes glaring defiantly at the older Hunter.  
"So you did know, and yet you didn't exorcise or kill him. Why?" He asked, brow drawn down in confusion.  
"He's my brother." Sam answered, raising his head.  
"He's a demon, Sam! He stopped being your brother the moment he woke up with black eyes!" Jason yelled, face red and eyes bulging.  
Sam's face remained defiant, still glaring at the other man.  
Shaking his head in confusion and distaste, Jason muttered "I never understood you, Winchester's." Walking over to a cloth covered table, he grabbed the sheet ripping it away from the table to reveal a multitude torture instruments. "But what I do understand is my job."

Picking up a scalpel, moonlight glinting off its point, Jason smiled and slowly dragged the blade down Sam's chest, scream echoing into the cold night.

Crowley's brow pulled down in concentration, slowly twisting the central pin to the right. Metatron screamed, body then going lax as enochian spilled from his lips. Shaking his head in exasperation, Crowley stepped back  
"Nothing but bloody nonsense has been spewing out of him for the past hour." Crowley complained, stepping away from the babbling angel.  
"Keep looking." Castiel demanded.  
Signing in aggravation, with his lips in a thin line, Crowley viscously twisted the screw in Metatron's left temple, eliciting an excruciated scream. The enochian that fell from his lips made Castiel's eyes widen.

"Wait!" He yelled, holding his arm out as Crowley reached for the next screw. "He is talking about the spell to seal Heaven."  
"Beg me for not entirely following, but aren't you looking for the spell to OPEN the gates, not close them." Crowley answered, voice sarcastic as he stepped back.  
"We need my grace. To seal the gates, an angel's grace had to be taken. To open them the grace has to be returned." A faraway look clouded Cas' blue eyes, as he listened to Metatron's ramblings.  
Raising his gaze, his blue orbs burning into the demon, Castiel ordered "Find where he's stored my grace."  
Blowing his cheeks up, Crowley released the air in a giant huff, stalking over to the prone angel and twisting one of the screws. After the screams died down, Metatron's babbles made Castiel stand straighter and Crowley let out a long whistle.  
"Well, Castiel, it's seems we've found the next ingredient for your spell." Crowley spoke, looking over to him.  
"A fallen angel's wings." He finished, sadness creeping onto his face.

"Jason, JASON!" Dean yelled into the phone, ripping it from his ear to look at the screen. Seeing the call had been ended, he snapped the phone shut, lips pressed into a hard line and nostrils flared in anger.  
Storming back to the storage room, Dean found another map.  
"If it's a trap, better not disappoint them." He muttered, incantation flowing from his lips as he struck the match and dropped it to the map. Flames ate away at the map till only a small portion was left.  
Snyder, TEXAS.

Raising his hand, Dean called the Blade to him. It flew through the bunker landing within Dean's secure grip.  
"Ready or not, here I come." He said, face hard and vanished from the bunker.

The air outside was cold, steam rising in front of Dean's face as he exhaled, but it didn't affect him like it would have, had he still been human. Crouching low in the distance, Dean looked to the old barn Jason was holing up in. A faded scream reached his ears and Dean tensed, Sam's agonized yell making him grip the Blade's handle harder.  
Movement caught his eye and he watched as Harry slowly walked around the perimeter of the barn, shotgun held achingly tight in his trembling hands. Dean stayed low, marking the layout of the surrounding area, objects he could use as cover, entrances he could utilize to reach Sam unseen.

Formulating a plan, Dean smiled and hunkered down, waiting for the best time to strike.

Harry slowly walked around the perimeter of the barn, breath coming too quick and heart thumping like a Jackrabbit. His steps were wooden, wobbling slightly every now and again. A rattling noise from the behind the tractor had him swinging his gun dangerously in that direction, face pale and damp with fear, palms slick on the shotgun and aim wavering all over.  
"Who's there?" He called out weakly, shuffling forward. Reaching the side of the tractor, Harry pointed the tip of the gun around the side, trying to draw courage and strength from anything and jumped around the side, small yell leaving his lips as he found nothing but a raccoon shifting through rubbish.

Shooing the pest away, he let out a relieved laugh turning to go continue his patrol, but a large broad muscled body blocked his way.

Looking up, his eyes widened as they fell on the Dean's smiling face.  
"Boo." Dean said, and any scream for mercy or help from Harry was cut off as a large black cloud of smoke surged its way out of Dean and down Harry's throat.

Dean blinked, feeling slightly odd at being inside another's body. Holding Harry's hands out in front of him, he flexed the appendages, examining the body that he now inhabited. Harry screamed and clawed at him, trying to gain control again.

"Quieten down, Harry. It'll be over soon." Dean said, blanching at not hearing his own voice. "Weird." he muttered, hoisting his body onto Harry's shoulder and placing it behind a cluster of rusted barrels.

"You wait here, handsome. I'll be back for you later." Dean said, picking up Harry's gun and walking around the perimeter of the barn.

_Time to set the ball rolling_. Dean thought, a cruel smirk creeping across Harry's pale face.

Mike walked around the barn, eyes looking out for any signs of incoming attack and gun raised to the ready. Hearing footsteps quickly approaching from behind, Mike swung around, taking aim.

"Wait! It's me!" Harry called, skidding to a halt and raising his hands in a defenseless manner.

"Jesus! Be careful would you Harry, I nearly shot you!" Mike said, lowering his gun and glaring at the panting Hunter.

"Mike there's something hiding behind the barrels over there." Harry said, fear lacing his voice and making it quake.

"Did you see what it was?" Mike demanded, looking in the direction wearily.

"No I didn't." Harry admitted, sounding sheepish, and following behind Mike.

Both Hunters approached the barrels cautiously, guns raised and steps slow and quiet.

"I don't see anything." Mike said, eyebrows drawn in confusion as he looked over the barrels for signs of movement.

"I wouldn't expect you to." Harry spoke up, voice low and dangerous, making the hairs on Mike's arms rise.

Turning his head, Harry swung the butt of his gun into Mike's face, eyes black and smile stretching his lips as Mike fell to the ground in a heap.

Taking hold of Mike's arms, Dean dragged him away, securing him and shoving a flannel between his teeth. Throwing Harry's head back, he smoked out of him and into his body, drawing in a deep breath as his eyes opened. Harry crumbled to the floor beside Mike, unconscious and Dean made his way over, repeating the measures on him.

Climbing up the side of the old red barn, Dean pulled himself through the small window at the top, silently stepping onto the worn wood boards. Sam's screams and yells echoing throughout the barn. Dean flexed his fingers around the handle of the Blade, Mark glowing red as its power flowed through him. The symbols on the wall dampened his strength slightly, but he would manage.

Sam yelled again, releasing great huffs of breath to alleviate the pain. Jason chuckled, placing the serrated blade onto the table, surface covered in small puddles of blood.

"I must admit that you're holding out pretty well, Sam. Doesn't look like big brother is coming to save you." Jason crooned, sympathetic smile twisting his lips.

Sam gave no response, grunting in pain as Jason rubbed salt into the new wound he had created.

Smiling at Sam, Jason asked "What are we going to do about you, Sammy?"

Dropping over the railing, Dean landed behind Jason. Surging up, he threw a fist into the Hunters face, skin on his knuckles splitting from the force of the collision. Jason stumbled backwards, shocked as Dean threw punch after punch, pinning him down onto the table and sending the instruments littering its surface across the floor.

Dean's hands wound around Jason's neck, squeezing tightly, feeling his pulse jump in panic as no air entered his lungs. Dean's eyes blazed black, teeth bared in a snarl as he saw Jason's eyes roll backwards.

"Dean, don't kill him." Sam uttered, voice hoarse and slurred.

Releasing the unconscious Hunter, Dean turned his dark gaze to Sam, eyes flitting back to normal.

"No one but me gets kicks your ass." Dean said, walking over to Sam and unlocking the buckles keeping him strapped down.

"Took you long enough." Sam muttered, leaning on Dean.

"Had to make a plan. Isn't that what you always tell me to do? Make a plan rather than just storming in?" Dean asked, pulling Sam's arm over his shoulder and hedging around the Devil's Traps painted on the floor.

"Jerk." Sam muttered.

"Bitch." Dean replied, a wry smile on his lips.

Pulling the barn doors open, a shot boomed through the night, rock salt lodging itself deeply into Dean's and making him fall backwards with Sam.

Mike and Harry stood over Dean and Sam, guns aimed their chests, fingers on the trigger.


	10. Chapter 10

"Get up slowly!" Mike barked at them, eyes seething with anger. Cautiously, Dean began to rise, pulling Sam up with him who grunted in discomfort as his wounds were stretched. Standing, the brothers hedged their way backwards, away from the two approaching Hunters, guns still aimed at their chests. Dean stopped, glancing down behind him, heels just barely touching the edge of a Devil's trap. Looking back to the other Hunters, his jaw was set mind racing, trying to find a way of escaping.  
"Get in the trap, Dean." Mike ordered, a small glint of triumph in his eyes. Dean stood still, glaring at him, refusing to step into the trap.  
Gritting his teeth, Mike snarled "Fine. You have three seconds to get inside that trap or Harry's going to fill your brothers chest with iron rounds." Harry turned wide eyes to Mike, face pale but the glare he received made him nod his head quickly, focusing his wavering aim directly at Sam's heart.

Dean flared his nostrils, eyes landing on the rope dangling from one of the beams in the barn.  
"One."  
Focusing on it, it began to twist and curve in a serpentine motion, descending down.  
"Two."  
Gliding through the air and towards Harry, the rope curled back, like a snake ready to strike.  
"Three."

Dean threw himself in front of Sam as the shot rang out, iron rounds clawing their way through his chest, eliciting a pained yell as the rope surged forward, length twinning tightly around Harry's unprotected throat and pulling him into the air, garbled scream of shock and fear cut off by a resonating snap, as he neck was broken.  
Mike howled in anger, seeing Harry's limp body hanging from the banister, gaze vacant and jaw slack. Turning his enraged gaze back, Mike was tackled to the floor by Dean, eyes black and filled with hatred. Slamming his fists into the Hunters face, Dean shouted "Sam, get out of here!" as Mike blocked his blow and sent his own punch flying into Dean's jaw, dislodging him from his perch on his waist.

Sam lurched to his feet, swaying slightly as he became light headed. He staggered towards the doors, calling "Dean, come on!" and was about to call again when the booming echo of a gun firing went off and searing pain bloomed from the center of his chest.  
Eyes falling down, Sam watched as deep red began to stain his shirt, spreading out in a darkening pool. His ears were ringing and his knees hit the floor with a dull thump, the barn tipping on its side as Sam fell.

Hearing the shot, Dean raised his head, an anguished "NO!" tearing from him as Sam's body hit the floor, blood drenching his shirt. Snarling, he slammed the First Blade between Mike's eyes, his body giving a final twitch then becoming still.  
Lunging to his feet, Dean spun, black gaze landing on Jason, gun still smoking and advanced towards him. Jason aimed at Dean, firing an iron round into his left knee cap, making him stagger and leg giving out from underneath him. Snarling, Dean tried to get up, only to be shot in the leg again and fall down with a pained yell. Glaring at the Hunter, Dean watched as Jason pulled out an anti possession amulet from around his neck.  
"Don't even think about smoking into me, Dean." Jason said, twisted smile on his face as he aimed at Sam. "You might wanna say goodbye to your little brother, Dean. But, then again, you'll probably see each other soon enough in Hell."  
Throwing his gaze to a pale and struggling Sam, Dean's eyes returned to normal, worry, determination and another emotion swimming in them. "I'm sorry, Sammy." He muttered, before he threw his head back and smoked out of his body, twisting through the air and down Sam's throat.

Jason yelled, pulling the trigger but Dean stopped the bullet mid-flight, sitting up in Sam's body. The piece of metal fell harmlessly to the floor and Sam's eyes flitted black, as he held his hand up and sent Jason crashing into the back wall, limbs spread eagle and pinned down.  
Dean grunted as Sam screamed at him, throwing himself forcefully against Dean's hold. Dean pushed Sam down, carefully climbing to his feet as to not shift the bullet in Sam's chest too much and cause more damage.

"You hurt my brother, you son of a bitch." Dean seethed, eyes blazing.  
Lifting his hand, the instruments and blades on the table and floor rose with the motion, hovering in the air, points facing Jason. His eyes widen in horror, mouth opening and closing as desperate pleas flowed from him.  
"Dean, please I'm sorry! I won't come after you again, I swear! I'll forget everything's that's happened! Please don't kill me!" He cried, heart racing and body drenched on sweat.  
"I let you go twice already. I'm not into third chances." Dean said and sent the blades flying.

Jason screamed as the blades pierced him, embedding themselves into his hands, arms, shoulders, chest and legs. Some went completely through, piercing the wall behind and pinning Jason to it. Dean lowered his hand, power receding and Jason's body dropped slightly, howling as some of the blades shifted and cut deeper into him, but prevented him from falling. Jason raised his head, sweat falling into his watering eyes and a weak "Why?" being uttered.  
"Oh Jason, I'm not going to outright kill you. I'm going to leave you as you are, pinned to the wall with the blades you cut Sammy up with. What will happen is your weight and gravity will slowly pull you down, while the blades lodged into the wall behind will continue to cut you nice and slow, but when you eventually fall, you'll impale yourself on them. So, you're going to either die from blood loss or from being impaled. Either way, it will be some time before you die, try to enjoy it." Dean smirked, picking up his body and walking out of the barn, Jason's weak screams cutting off as he pulled the doors closed.

Appearing in the bunker, Dean carried his body to the shower room, depositing it in the lonely bath tub in the corner. Sam continued to pound against Dean's hold, weaker now and Dean looked down to the blood stained shirt.  
"Hang on, Sammy." He said, pulling the shirt off and heading to the kitchen with the first aid kit. Cleaning the blood from Sam's chest, Dean used a pair of tweezers to tentatively pull the bullet out, pouring whiskey over the wound and grunting at the sharp sting. Carefully Dean stitched the wound shut, placing gauze and taping bandages down.

"Dean, get out!" Sam shouted feebly.  
Shaking his head, Dean replied "I can't Sammy. If I leave now you'll die. I'm only staying in here long enough to heal you, then I promise I'll be out."  
Sam's protests died down then, too weak to argue and knowing that Dean was right.  
"This is messed up." He complained, a trace of humor tinting his words.  
Smirking, Dean answered "Tell me about it. I feel like a newborn giraffe. Your legs are too damn long! I have to teach myself how to walk again."  
Sam chuckled tiredly and smiling a little Dean said "Take a rest, Sam. I'll look after you."

For the next few hours Dean healed Sam as quickly as he could, popping over to various motels in small towns, filling buckets with ice from their outside freezers and appearing back in the bunker, pouring the ice into the tub containing his body to stop it from going into rigor mortis. Body finally surrounded by ice, Dean blew out a breath, excess energy making him jittery but being at a complete loss of what to do with himself. Walking to the main area, he took in the chaotic mess he had created, feeling resolved to fixing the room.  
It took about two hours for him to have the room in a similar condition to how it originally was, having been distracted by flipping through some of the books and reading their contents.  
Sam's stomach growled loudly, Dean noticing for the first time that he was hungry. Opening the fridge, he found it empty of anything worth eating and with a sigh he appeared outside of a random 24 hour gas station. Walking into the overly bright building, Dean picked up a basket, heading to the pastry section and throwing three pies in, apple, cherry and pecan, as well as bread, a variation of different cold meats and a 6 pack of Budweiser. The cashier, a spotted teen with braces, rung up the total and Dean handed him a couple of bills, giving him a smile that didn't reach his eyes when the kid continued to stare at the cuts and bruises on Sam's face.

Having eaten the majority of two pies, Dean relaxed back in the chair, feet planted on the table surface, eyelids drooping shut. Even though Dean didn't need to sleep, Sam's body needed rest to help recover. Swinging his legs to the floor, Dean strode down the corridor to Sam's room, checking first on his body and then flopping down into the soft mattress, thinking he would have to get the Impala with Sammy's stuff the next day.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel stood in tense silence, shoulders drawn tight, fists clenched and jaw twitching. His mind raced at finally knowing all the ingredients needed to perform the spell, blood of the original caster, fallen angles wings and the stolen grace returned. It seemed so simple, but with the location of his grace still remaining unknown and to ask an angel for their wings made opening the Gates of Heaven seem near impossible. Castiel flinched at the thought of forcefully being separated from his wings. Even as a human he had felt their loss, but to have to endure the pain of having them removed sent a cold chill down his spine and a lead weight in his stomach. Most angels would rather die than have their wings taken.  
"Please continue trying to find where he has hidden my grace, I have to speak with the others for a moment." Castiel said quietly, walking with a dejected air to the door, slipping from the room as a Crowley gave an even "Of course." and continued his work.

Castiel exited the room, shoulders slumped and looking even defeated than when his followers had abandoned him. Hannah's brow pulled down in worry at her brother's broken manner.  
"Castiel, what is wrong?" She asked, becoming tense. Cas exhaled through his nose, shoulders dropping even more and brought his piercing blue eyes up to her.  
"We have found the spell required to open Heaven's Gates, however, some of the items required are not so easily... accessible." Castiel explained, dark circles under his eyes and stubble growing out on his face.  
"What are the items required? I will make sure that all of our brothers and sisters will be looking for them." Hannah answered, shoulders drawn back in an attentive manner.  
Castiel shook his head, looking away and biting down on his lip. "Metatron's blood is needed as the first part of the spell, my grace would need to be returned to me as the second, but we have yet to find its location." Castiel paused, not wishing to reveal the next stage of the spell.  
"And the last?" Hannah asked, expectant look upon her face.  
Castiel wearily turned his gaze back to her. "The wings of a fallen angel."

Hannah's face blanched, eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to find any trace of a lie on Castiel's face, her own draining of colour as she saw he was telling the truth.  
Castiel's eyes grew sad at the look of horror and disbelief in Hannah's expression. "With how much our brothers and sisters have suffered, I cannot ask any of them to give such a high price." Cas said, lowering his eyes. "I will find out that if once my grace is returned the removal of my wings will affect the spell." He continued, jaw fixed.  
Hannah's heads shot up eyes wide and mouth agape.  
"Castiel, you would give your wings so we could return home?" Hannah asked, emotions flying across her face too fast to decipher.  
"I would not deny any of our siblings the chance to return home. I have become accustomed with life as a mortal. Losing my wings will not be the first time I have been human." Cas said, a small sad smile on his lips.  
"No, but it would be your last." Hannah replied, grim expression on her face making Castiel lose the smile.

Taking a deep breath Hannah let it out, standing straight and looking determinedly at Cas.  
"Castiel, I have a proposition for you." She said.  
Frowning, Cas ask "What is it?" a knot forming in his gut.  
"I will give my wings as the last requirement for the spell." She answered, voice strong but a slight quiver was still detected by Castiel.  
Eyes wide at his sister's offer, Castiel opened his mouth to respond, mind going blank. "Hannah, no, I can't ask you to-" his argument was cut off.  
"I know you wouldn't ask this of any of us, Castiel. That is why I am offering myself instead." She said, eyes latching onto Castiel's. "You have done and given so much for our siblings already. Even though some of the choices you made in the past were not wise, you did it out of love for your family. You've shown you will do anything for us, it is now my turn to show you how great full we are." Hannah finished.

Castiel stood in silence, gazing at her and slowly lifted his hand to clasp in shoulder, soothing rubbing the pad of his thump across her collar, his lips turned up slightly but sadness, pride and admiration shining in his blue eyes.  
"Thank you." He said quietly, Hannah giving a meek smile in return.

"Sorry for interrupting this heart-felt, self sacrificing family moment, but I think you'll be wanting this back, Castiel." Crowley said, smug expression on his face as he dangled a small vial on a silver chain from his fingers, an angels grace swirling inside. Hannah suddenly raised her hand, palm facing outward to Crowley as light emitted from the centre and her eyes.  
"Hannah, no!" Castiel exclaimed, lowering her hand and turning a baffled gaze to Castiel.  
"He is a demon, Castiel. He must be destroyed!" She shouted back, trying to raise her palm again, but Castiel kept a firm grip.  
"Hello to you too, Darling." The demon replied, amused smile on his lips and quickly changed his eyes to the red of his former Cross roads status, before changing them back to normal.  
"You had a demon torture Metatron for the spell!" Hannah accused, glaring at Castiel.  
"It wasn't torture per say, Love. I just tapped into his 'factory settings' and uncovered the needed information. He will make a full recovery, I promise you." Crowley spoke up.  
"Why should I believe you?" Hannah spoke, gaze still suspicious.  
"Because, I am the most honest demon you will ever meet, without the need for torture." Crowley answered, smile still on his lips. "Now Castiel, I believe this belongs to you?" He held the vial of grace towards the angel.

Cas reached his hand out, eyes slightly glazed over as he felt his grace call to him, body starting to thrum.  
"Where did you find it?" He asked, brow furrowed.  
"Around his neck. You angels really need to take a page from the humans and look into body searches. It might save you time." Crowley answered sarcastically.  
Just as Castiel's fingers were about to touch the glass case, Crowley pulled it back, tutting at Castiel.  
"Now, I think I am a fair man, very much believing in the phrase 'I scratch your back you scratch mine'. So Castiel, I've scratched your back, I want you to reciprocate." Crowley said, eyebrows raised expectantly.  
"What is it that you want, Crowley?" Castiel asked, eyeing his grace within reach.  
"I want you to take yourself and your feathered siblings back Upstairs and sort yourselves out. Once that's done, I want you to keep your nose out of Hell's business. Do what you want with those who step out of line, but the ones following orders leave. Between the Winchester's and your Feather squad, I'll have no demons left to do my work. Ça va?"

Castiel bit down on his lip, thinking. The Winchester's were more than capable of dealing with Crowley's minions and those stepping out of line were most likely disposed of by the demon himself, the brothers or angels.  
"Deal." Castiel dead panned, holding his hand out for the vial.  
"Excellent." Crowley answered, smile on his face as he chucked the bail to Castiel, disappearing the next instance.

Castiel held the vial to his face, examining it with a small smile turning up his lips.  
"Is it your grace, Castiel?" Hannah asked, a hopeful look in her eyes as she looked to Castiel.  
"It is." He murmured, place the silver chain around his neck, and looking to Hannah with a determined expression, he said "Let's return our brothers and sisters home."

With that, they headed towards the room containing Metatron to begin the spell.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean's dreams were blessedly empty for once, body completely relaxed and breathing even. This was probably the best sleep he'd had in months. But the tranquillity of the room was destroyed as Sam's beside alarm shrieked to life, causing Dean to violently jolt awake and send the unfortunate smaller pieces of furniture crashing into each other and the opposite walls.  
Dean gasped, now wide awake and seeing that he was not under attack, released a moan and flopped back against the pillows, arm covering his eyes and outstretched hand repeatedly hitting the alarm till it stopped ringing. Groaning again, he lifted Sam's arm slightly, peering out at the red flashing digits that told him was 7 in the morning.

"Sammy, what is wrong with you?" Dean asked, closing his eyes again, intent on falling back asleep for the majority of the day. However, this was disrupted by Sam pushing against Dean's hold, pressure becoming more forceful and demands angrier.  
"Come on, Sam, can I not get a little more rest?" Dean groused, rolling onto his stomach and burying his head into a pillow, trying in vain to ignore Sam.  
"Ugh, fine!" Dean consents, rolling back over and lifting Sam's shirt, examining the shiny, new, pink flesh that now covered Sam's wound. The cuts and slashes were healed, some completely gone and the deeper ones nothing but a faint white line. Over all, Sam had healed quite well. For the next week or so he would feel like utter crap, but he would continue to heal and regain his strength.  
"Looks like you're in luck, Sammy. Seems you're healed enough to not be needing me anymore." And Dean smoked out of Sam, black form twisting through the bunker, lights flickering and surged into his old vessel, body arching beneath the icy surface. He came up spluttering, blinking water from his eyes and snorting it from out of his nose. Groaning and shaking droplets from his hair and lashes, Dean stood up in the bath, slipping slightly on bottom and trudging down the hall to Sam's room, a trail of water following in his wake.

Sam lay on his bed, brown scrunched together and a grimace on his face as he moaned and wrapped his arms around his torso.  
"How you feeling, Sam?" Dean asked from the doorway, wiping a water droplet hanging from the tip of his nose.  
"Like Death danced on my grave." He mumbled, shifting around to find a comfortable position, and grunting as it pulled slightly on his healed but sensitive wounds.  
"Oh, stop being such a drama queen. You'll live." Dean replied, hoping his humour would break some of the tension in the air. Sam laughed, or at least he tried to and ended up groaning in pain and clutching his ribs slightly tighter.  
"Jerk." He uttered, looking over to Dean.  
"Bitch." Dean replied back, a grin splitting his face. Sam gave a small smile in return, finally finding a semi comfortable position and relaxed.

"So I take it Jason and the others are dead." He asked, although it came out more as a statement.  
"Yes." Dean replied, the grin disappearing and a hard edge falling over his features. Sam nodded, biting on his bottom lip.  
"Thank you." He said quietly, not looking at Dean's face.  
Dean shifted in his position, feeling uncomfortable with Sam thanking him, even though he was the reason for Sam becoming injured in the first place.  
"Sam, don't apologize. It's my fault that you got involved in this mess." Dean took a deep breath, hands shoved deep into his drenched jean pockets and looking extremely uncomfortable. "It's my fault that you took off, it's my fault that Jason and his goons used you to get to me, and it's my fault that you got tortured and shot. So if anyone is to apologize, it's me." He finished, looking up to Sam's soulful hazel eyes.  
"I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam dropped his eyes, jaw muscle flexing. "Yeah, you should be sorry, Dean. Like you said, it is your fault that I got dragged into this." Dean's teeth clench together, hands fisting tightly "But, it's my fault that this happened to you. I should have gotten to you sooner and stopped Metatron. For that, Dean, I'm sorry." Sam said, looking to Dean with sad eyes.

Dean swallowed around the lump lodged in his throat, clearing it and looking away from Sam's beseeching eyes. "Yeah, well, we'll deal with it." Dean said, turning to leave Sam's room. "Hey, I'm gonna go change and dry off, see if there's anything to eat. I'll call you once I've got something together." Dean said over his shoulder, tapping his hand against the door frame.  
"Ok, thanks." Sam replied, nestling back against his pillows. "Oh, Dean by the way." Sam said, waiting for Dean to turn back around.  
"Yeah?" Dean asked, brow knitted together.  
"Once I've healed up, I'm gonna beat your ass for feeding me your blood." Sam said seriously, but a small upturn of his lip took some heat out of the threat.  
Smirking, Dean flitted his eyes black for a second, then returned them to normal. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Castiel and Hannah enter the room, posture drawn tall and imposing, expressions closed off and stern. Metatron looked up to them wearily, face drained of colour, covered in a fine sheen of sweat and grime. Small trails of blood dry and flaked make dark jagged lines down from his temples and centre of his forehead.  
"Castiel, if you follow through with this spell all our work and the sacrifices of our siblings will have been for nothing. Once you're in Heaven again, what is there to stop another civil war breaking out?" Metatron asked, desperately trying to delay the inevitable.  
Castiel's eyes harden, jaw fixed and teeth grinding, as he drops an angel blade from where it is concealed inside his coat sleeve. Metatron's gaze locks onto the shining silver weapon, eyes widening and finally reflecting the fear that he holds.  
"I'm returning our brothers and sisters to where they belong. Locking them out of Heaven was a mistake which I will rectify. As for another civil war, I believe our siblings have learnt their lesson from the former. We will continue with our orders that God assigned to us."

Hannah walked to Metatron's side, unbuckling the clasp that kept his left arm restrained. He tried to pull his arm from her grasp, but Hannah held him tight, forcing his wrist out and pulling his hand back to expose the thin flesh further. Metatron's were bright with terror, body straining into the back of the chair, trying miserably to get away from Castiel as he approached with the blade raised.  
"Castiel, please do not do this! Don't, stop!" Metatron screamed.  
Castiel gave no reply, just raised the blade and cut the underside of Metatron's wrist, collecting the blood that fell into a small steel bowl that he had manifested. Metatron whimpered at the pain, still struggling to take his arm back, but once the bowl was a third full, Castiel pulled it from beneath his bleeding wrist indicating to Hannah to restrain his arm once again.

Castiel dipped his fingers into the warm liquid, drawing the sigil to Heaven's portal on the floor while Hannah watched with bated breath and Metatron slumped in defeat. Once the sigil had been complete Castiel stood in its centre, the red lines glowing bright with power. Pulling the vial containing his grace from his pocket, he dangled the bright white, shifting essence in front of him. Unscrewing the lid, his grace flowed out, floating in the air above him before it surged downwards past his lips.  
Castiel's body arched back, light streaming from his eyes and agape mouth, a pained yell tearing from his throat as his grace weaved and embedded itself into his vessel, restoring the damage inflicted upon him. Once the excess power had left him, Castiel fell to the floor, knees giving out from underneath him and arms catching his body before he fell completely.  
"Castiel, are you ok?" Hannah asked, stepping forward to help her brother but hesitating at the perimeter of the sigil.  
"I'm fine, Hannah." Castiel grunted, shakily getting back to his feet as his grace rushed through him, overwhelming him temporarily.

Standing to his full height, Cas rolled his shoulders and popped his neck, releasing a sigh. Looking to where Hannah stood hesitantly at the border of the sigil, he raised his hand out to her, indicating for her to join him.  
Hannah swallowed, stepping into the sigil and standing before Castiel, eyes looking down to the floor and her body tensed in preparation for what was about to happen. Gently, Castiel lifted her chin, seeing unshed tears gathering in her eyes.  
"Thank you, Hannah. Be strong." Castiel said, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Releasing a shaky breath, Hannah turned her back to him, hunching her shoulders forward and spreading her wings out. Castiel stared at the light grey shadow of Hannah's wings, watching how they twitched and shifted.  
"I'm sorry." Castiel murmured, then raised his blade and swiftly brought it down, severing Hannah's wings in one sweep.

Hannah let out a gut wrenching scream, as the drawn sigils flared brightly, white light filling the room and shattering the windows, as a high pitched ring drowned out her scream. A shockwave spread out from the factory, glass and lights shattering and exploding, car alarms blaring loudly. The inside of the factory was dead silent, nothing left but the chair and charred sigil on the floor. Outside lights ascended towards the sky, causing passerby's to stop and stare in shock and amazement.

The angels were returning home.

Dean walked back into Sam's room, dry, wearing new clothes and carrying a plate with a couple sandwiches and two beers. Sam blearily opened his eyes, seeing Dean he stretched slowly, feeling his muscles protest weakly at their tensing. He pushed himself up, shifting backwards to make room for Dean to sit at the end of the bed.  
Silently, Dean held out the sandwiches, Sam picking one up and uttering a quiet "Thank you." before taking a bite. Both brothers sat in silence, munching on their dinner and taking sips from their beers.  
"So, how we going to do things now?" Dean was the first to break the silence, turning slightly to look at Sam.  
Sam chewed slowly on his mouthful, contemplating Dean's question.  
"I don't know, Dean. We could just continue with things as normal, but you do realize that nothing is going to be exactly the same after this." Sam answered, looking to Dean.  
"Yeah, I know. Some of the hunts are going to be harder for me to shake off than others, and on those ones I want you to stand back from me, Sam. I don't want to hurt you again while I'm not entirely in control what I'm doing. But only get involved if there's a chance that civilians are at risk." Dean said, a stern edge to his voice.  
"Ok." Sam replied, nodding his head and taking another sip from his beer.

The alarms suddenly blared to life, making Dean choke on the mouthful of beer he had just taken.  
"What the hell is it now!" he shouted, jumping to his feet and running to the main area of the bunker, looking over the railing and seeing red lights popping up all over the map in the centre of the lower floor.  
"What is it?" Sam shouted over the noise, limping his way to Dean's side. Both Hunters raised their heads as the alarm suddenly gave out, spinning quickly to see the figure standing behind them.

"Cas?" Sam said, surprised to see the angel standing before them. Dean backed away quickly, crouching down slightly with eyes wide as he took in the giant shadows of Castiel's four wings. Sam looked to his retreating brother, only then realizing the threat that the angel possessed to Dean. Sam dragged his gaze to Cas, stepping in front of Dean to shield him from any form of attack.  
"You both need not worry, I'm not going to attack Dean."  
Dean rose slowly from his crouch, shoulders still tense but posture more open to Castiel.  
"Cas, do you know what's happening?" Sam asked, stepping aside.  
"The angels are returning to Heaven." Castiel replied, face stoic but a bright gleam in his eyes.  
"What? You found the spell?" Sam suddenly burst out, wincing as it made his chest burn.  
"Yes, we located the spell and have reopened the Gates. The angels and souls are now returning to where they belong."

"So, if the spell worked, does that mean you're an angel again?" Sam hedged, looking at Dean uncertainly who nodded his head in confirmation.  
"Yes. One of the requirements of the spell was my grace being returned." Cas said, walking up to Dean who stood straight.  
"I just want you to know, Dean, that even though you are a demon, I would not harm you unless I thought it necessary." Cas said quietly, looking up to the taller man.  
"Thanks, I think. So, that means you're not going to smite me?" Dean asked, trying for a bit of humour that came out strained.  
"No, I'm not." He said, then lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders in a tight hug.

Dean let out a surprised yelp, half raising his arms to either embrace Castiel or push him away.  
"I'm sorry for not being there to save you, Dean. But I am glad that you are still alive." Cas said, still holding onto the uncomfortable Hunter.  
Eventually, Dean gave an awkward pat to Castiel's shoulder, muttering "Ok, get off. No Chick flick moments." but had a small smile on his face.

The three stood looking at each other, silence falling over the room as neither knew what to say. After a few seconds, Dean let out a large sigh, proclaiming loudly "Well, I for one am still hungry. Wanna get a bite to eat."  
Sam started chuckling and shook his head at his brother, smile splitting his face while Cas had a grin spread across his lips as he looked between the two brothers, with Dean appearing perplexed by their amusement.

All three headed for the Bunkers entrance, arguing between each other where they should go or what to eat, while the great white lights continued to steadily rise to the sky.

**Hi, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed and favourited this fic. Sorry for the update taking a bit longer than usual, I wasn't sure if I was going to continue or end the story here. Having come to a decision, I am going to end things here, but I may pick them back up at a later date in a different story once I've got some more ideas down. Again thank you to everyone and I hope that you enjoy it! **


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